


Disdain Me Still

by SyrenGrey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dom Lucius Malfoy, Dom/sub, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Good Lucius Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Professors, Light Dom/sub, Pining, Post-War, Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:49:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24665656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SyrenGrey/pseuds/SyrenGrey
Summary: It was impossible to remain composed since learning that the new Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was, indeed, an ex-Death Eater.Lucius Malfoy.TheLucius Malfoy.Torturer. Traitor. Death Eater. Professor atHogwarts?_______Potions Mistress Hermione Granger is sceptical that her new colleague and DADA professor, Lucius Malfoy, is as reformed as he claims. He's determined to change her mind, one way or another.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Lucius Malfoy
Comments: 80
Kudos: 400
Collections: Budding Desires Spring Fest





	1. Sinner’s Sighs Be Angel’s Food

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Budding Desires Spring Fest.  
> My **prompt** was:  
> Five years after the war, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall still cannot get a DADA professor to stick, so she goes out on a limb and hires divorced and supposedly reformed Lucius Malfoy. Potions Mistress Hermione Granger is sceptical, but Lucius Malfoy changes her mind.
> 
> Thank you for my Alpha/bet Geekiebeekie and weestarmeggie for their invaluable support, love, and time. I am so grateful to you both, always. <3

* * *

_Sinner’s Sighs Be Angel’s Food_

Hermione couldn’t help staring at him. Each resounding clap rang in her ears and caused her eye to twitch with irritation as she cast a long glare at the shimmering white-blond head and tight muscles which shook with approving ovation. 

It was impossible to remain composed since learning that the new Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was, indeed, an ex-Death Eater.

Lucius Malfoy. _The_ Lucius Malfoy.

Torturer. Traitor. Death Eater. Professor at _Hogwarts?_

“Better be... _Slytherin!_ ” 

A burst of applause followed the announcement from precisely three seats to her left. 

“Bravo!” he called out. 

Hermione felt her stomach curl at the mere concept of it; it was especially hard to bear the horror in reality. His name rang in her ears and reverberated in her head, and she could just envision his face, cruel and taunting. She didn’t have to imagine it; she could just glance past the blur of professors sitting next to her and _see it_. 

It was impossible to stop reeling from one conclusion to the other. Was Lucius here to infiltrate Hogwarts? For what purpose? Did he trick Headmistress McGonagall into giving him the position by means of coercion or Unforgivable Curse? Was the Headmistress in the right state of mind to even maintain her post given this clearly ridiculous decision she’d made?

McGonagall’s words had been clear, “There’s simply nothing I can do. Lucius was the only applicant for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.” The only applicant! As though Hermione would not have willingly taken the post of both Potions Mistress _and_ Defense Against the Dark Arts professor if she’d only been warned. She had used the Time-Turner to manage a hectic schedule in the past; she would’ve been more than willing to do so again if it meant keeping the students safe from Lucius Sodding Malfoy. 

McGonagall swore that she’d reached out to all her contacts from the Order and the Ministry to gather information on Malfoy’s recent allegiance and behaviour. All results came back consistent: Lucius Malfoy had all but been a very good boy following the fall of Voldemort. 

That wasn’t enough, Hermione determined. Good behaviour for five years did not erase all the sorrow and destruction his actions had caused. There was no way in hell he’d get away with this.

Hermione pushed against her heels and forced her body upright as her back slammed hard against the wooden spine of her chair. She nearly jumped out of her skin when a heavy hand pressed against her arm, and she peered up to find the warm, chocolate eyes of Rubeus Hagrid staring down at her with sympathy.

“Don’t think on i’, ‘ermione,” Hagrid said. She mustered a small smile for the Care of Magical Creatures professor, whose own emotions were splayed clearly on his features. 

“I know, Hagrid,” she murmured. If Hagrid could have a calm head about it, why couldn’t she?

Hermione’s hands ached with each clap as another Hufflepuff was announced. 

She was met with silence from her left. 

_Of course, he wouldn’t clap for a Hufflepuff._ And yet each time the Sorting Hat would boisterously announce another student sorted into _Slytherin_ , Lucius Malfoy’s blond head would bob with approval and hands would smack together to show their utmost support. 

Hermione cast another glare in his direction. It was no doubt a strategic decision on McGonagall’s part to place him next to Sprout, as the small, round-faced witch was amicable enough to befriend an Inferius.

No one seemed to bat an eye at the Death Eater sitting in their midst.

In all her five years teaching at Hogwarts, she had not felt quite so uncomfortable as she did sitting just a few seats away from him. The man whose face she associated so closely with evil that it was difficult not to get a knot in her throat when her eyes drifted to her left and she got a glance at the silver hair. It reached his shoulders and was brushed backwards with such precision that she could not spot a single strand out of place. 

Lucius was clad in black robes, the fabric pinned together at his chest with an ornate snake-brooch and revealed a crisp dark-green suit, the colour of plush green velvet and expensive ink. She could see the slight lift of his brow and the way his eyelids were half-open, intent in their will of always looking down on others. The corners of his eyes were creased with thin lines, displaying both his age and an underlying amusement of the world as though, at any given moment, he was entertaining a slew of very saucy secrets.

Hermione’s blood ran cold when the shrewd blue eyes, previously focused on the evening’s festivities, darted toward her as though sensing her lingering stare.

Her throat jumped with a hard swallow, and she hastened to turn her attention, instead, to her plate which had previously glistened with the reflection of twinkling candlelight. Hermione glanced down with surprise, then, when she found the plate towering with delectable food. The Sorting Ceremony was over, and dinner had begun. She’d hardly noticed the transition.

* * *

Hermione fussed with Hagrid’s sleeve, her wand hard at work to remove a pronounced stain that had started to seep into the fabric near his elbow. Flesh-Eating Slug Slime, he’d promised, though Hermione could smell the minerality that reminded her of fresh bog and noted the way the stain seemed to shine with green luminescence in the dim room. Her lips pursed in their tension as she slowly extracted the mysterious stain and rid him of any evidence of his misbehaviour - which Hermione determined was Hinkypunk solution. 

The room was alive with chatter. The Professors, back from their breaks, caught up within the safe confines of McGonagall’s office, sharing their tales of travel and adventure. 

“Did you do anything fun during our break, Hagrid?” 

Hermione twisted her whole body to peer up at the large man, with his warm-grin, fleshy nose, and eyes that could melt stone. 

“If yer really wantin’ ta know, I found a hive of —” 

“Shh,” she hissed, cutting off the rest of his incriminating sentence. 

Hermione could sense Lucius Malfoy’s presence before she saw him - the warm scent of clove, sandalwood, and leather filled her head and forced a sneer on her lips. Her head tilted instinctively toward the fragrance, and she was met with a faceful of silver. He ran a cool hand through his hair, brushing it aside to reveal his sharp features as he spoke with the Headmistress. His lips were fixed in a confident smirk, but his eyes were like those of a wild cat that had no cares in the world, utterly convinced of its own strength and power in the jungle yet painfully keen when the opportunity for its next meal sprung itself. Those eyes drifted, not out of boredom, but with acute observance as they took in the room and the inhabiting professors. What was he up to?

It stilled her heart to see him there, in the sacred space of Dumbledore’s old office. 

Though the Headmaster’s office now belonged to Minerva, the only changes made were a few Celtic trinkets displayed neatly on her desk. Beyond that, everything — from the phoenix statues perched on spindly tables to the tall portrait of the late Headmaster fast-asleep — was characteristically Dumbledore, as though left in homage to McGonagall’s mentor and old friend. 

Hermione wondered what he would have thought of Lucius standing mere feet from her, now. What he would have said to Minerva had he learned of the Death Eater’s new position as a professor at the school.

For a brief moment, Hermione considered whether her old Headmaster would have been able to see through the dark past of a man like Lucius Malfoy. She brushed the thought from her head as quickly as it came. Dumbledore always had a penchant for forgiveness that Hermione simply could not relate to. 

Her eyes wandered around the room as McGonagall began her announcement regarding the newest addition to the staff, her typically terse start-of-the-year pep talk already garnering more attention than it had in years past. 

“It is a pleasure,” Lucius Malfoy spoke, his voice breathy and melodic. He stepped forward, away from the natural circle that had formed, and hovered instead at the Headmistress’ right side. “It is a _pleasure_ ,” he repeated, his gaze taking turns to linger on every pair of eyes that peered at him, as though obtaining their buy-in by mesmerization, “to be chosen as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, and to give these students a real education.”

“As if we had a choice...” She muttered, garnering a soft chuckle from Hagrid. _And a real education, honestly. Who does he think he is?_

The sound seemed to alert Lucius of her presence, and she could feel her skin prickle with anxious anticipation when he finished his speech and walked smoothly toward Hagrid with a smile that barely reached his eyes. He stretched out his hand, offering it to the half-giant. As though everything was fine. As though he had not tried to get Hagrid sacked in her second year of school. As though he had not attempted to have Hagrid’s hippogriff executed for no real reason.

She was snapped out of her thoughts when cold blue eyes stared at her. The air around her felt clammy and cold, and the familiar scent of Lucius’ cologne filled her nostrils, the masculine sweetness consumed her senses and made her want to recoil.

“Miss Granger,” he said, his lips curled in yet another counterfeit smile as his eyes washed over her face. “My, how you’ve _grown_. It has been some time, has it not? Perhaps I’ve been away for too long. Perhaps I missed a memorandum, but — is the Ministry allowing just anyone to be a Hogwarts professor these days?”

Hermione felt frozen in place; the only things moving were her eyes as they darted from his outstretched hand waiting politely for hers, and his face. A smile, authentic this time, and full of familiar mockery. His eyes watched with quiet care for a flinch or sneer of disgust.

They flickered with surprise when, instead, Hermione responded with a smile of her own. Her head tilted to the side, her fingers slipped ever-slowly into his warm touch, and in the sweetest voice Hermione could muster, she spoke.

“Yes, apparently they are.”


	2. Dear, If You Change, I’ll Never Choose Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like a music recommendation for this fic, [here it is.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o2nr401xYTM) All of the chapter titles are named after John Dowland pieces, as I listened mostly to his music while writing this fic. I hope you find it as soothing and romantic as I did.

_Dear, If You Change, I’ll Never Choose Again_

“I did it, Severus.”

Hermione’s gaze remained unmoved as she watched the bubbling cauldron fade from cerulean to azure, her only movement was her hand against her brow as she wiped the gleaming layer of sweat that had gathered from the humid vapours and lingering stress. She sprung at precisely the right moment when the brew had morphed just enough to emit a faint sulfuric essence, to extinguish the flames and transfer the potion into four glass vials with a fluid stroke of her wand. 

It was perfect. The fifth batch of Snape’s recipe—perfectly executed. 

Hermione celebrated with a grin as she watched the bubbling liquid still and thicken in its glass case. It didn’t bother Hermione at all that this victory was one she’d keep to herself. At least, herself and the spirit of Severus Snape, wherever he was. Though he had passed away over five years ago, his memory remained alive within the confines of Hermione’s workspace where she frequently sought him for strength.

As if navigating the exhausting role of Potions Mistress and tending to hundreds of pupils wasn’t daunting enough, she had to do it while filling the shoes of her talented ex-professor. She cast aside the notion that her role was simply to teach; she wanted to _inspire_ her pupils in the powerful craft and artful technique of potion brewing. Thus, she poured over Snape’s notes, studied his methods, and brewed his potions—even with their immense level of complication and margin for error. 

It had become a bit of a ritual as, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Hermione would don the long black button-down robe of Severus Snape over her leisure-attire. She’d pull up her sleeves, and spend several hours honing her skills with precise care that, she hoped, would do her Potions Professor proud. 

Hermione let out a contented sigh as she reached for her mug filled to the brim with undrunk, lukewarm tea. With a swish of her wand, the thick drapes that covered her office flung open, kicking up all manner of dust and smoke and filling the space with a grey overtone. The haze was pierced only by the temperamental rays of the sun, which shone between plush white clouds coasting through the sky with ease. 

Though the Professor of Potions historically resided in the dungeons, it took Hermione precisely four months of slugging away in the damp darkness of Hogwarts’ bowels before she marched to McGonagall’s office and insisted on a room with sunshine. Thus, the Head of Gryffindor House was given quite reasonable accommodations—with wall-to-wall windows and a spectacular view of the grounds, with its verdant hills, towering pine trees, and the deep rippling waters of the Black Lake. 

She peered out the window again, taking in the view with another happy sigh. 

“ _Serpenti Eructo!_ ” 

Hermione heard the words, though faint, before she could pinpoint the source. The veracity of the incantation was loud enough to have carried quite a distance.

It was the sound of laughter and applause that drew Hermione’s gaze toward the lawn, near the Herbology Greenhouses. She squinted as she tried to make out the scene before her: a circle of students—enough to fill a classroom—gathered around a young boy who was doubled over and clutching his sides.

Hermione’s hand rose with horror as she watched the young boy throw his head back and with a violent shake of his body and a sound of retching that carried all the way to her room, he expelled a foot long serpent from his mouth. It slithered out of the boy’s face as if he had just birthed the creature from his own stomach. 

“Oh-Oh God,” Hermione whispered against her fingertips. 

She could hardly look away as another pair of students took their place in the centre while the boy was quickly ushered away—to get immediate medical attention, she hoped. Hermione’s mind whirred with questions as she tried to understand what on Merlin’s green Earth the students were doing. 

She pressed her forehead against the window, attempting as much as she could to get a better view. She dragged her head across the glass as, with each heavy breath, the transparent glass fogged up with a white haze. 

Silver struck in the sunlight, glistening with an obtrusive brightness that flooded her gaze for a moment. _Malfoy_. He crossed between the two students and seemed to speak to each of them. The students bowed in response toward each other, as though they were about to duel. 

She squinted, able enough to identify a black-haired Slytherin boy facing a rather mousy blonde Hufflepuff girl who was shaking so hard her robes were nearly falling from her shoulders.

“ _Redactum Skullus!_ ” 

“What the— _no!_ ” Hermione cried out.

Her hand slammed against the window, her teacup fell from forgotten fingers and collided with the hard ground as it exploded with a wet crash. 

Hermione’s face blanched as she watched in an entranced sort of terror as the hex struck the small student and her head quickly started to shrink into itself. It only took another breath for Hermione to shake out of her frozen state and suddenly spring to action.

Her stomach ached with tension, her lungs burning as they expanded and constricted with short huffs. Red was all Hermione could see as she moved, her urgency so instinctive she could hardly bring forth a thought as she strode with raging purpose. 

“Sodding fucking Malfoy,” she spat under her breath, her robes billowing like well-fed flames around her feet. 

She’d had enough of the man, with his insane cruelty and disrespect toward the school and the staff. It wasn’t enough that he had, on three separate occasions, kept his Third Years in class well after the bell and forced them to miss her Potions class. When she had confronted him about it, the arrogant prat had made a snide comment about the “value of a proper education” in a “subject that actually mattered.” Hermione fought everything in her that evening to not spike his barley wine with Bowel-Expelling Elixir. The option of drugging the cruel and awful man was growing more tempting as she floated throughout the hallways like a hateful poltergeist.

Now he was forcing students to _hex each other_? She would not stand for this. So help her God, she would not tolerate his perverted little games. 

* * *

“Have you gone utterly mad, Malfoy?” 

A wave of students’ heads turned toward her sharp sound of Hermione’s words, carrying through the lawn as she weaved between the excited buzz of youthful chatter. 

All turned toward her except the perfectly manicured head of Lucius Malfoy who was in quiet conversation with Eli McCormick, a rather beefy sixth year and the student she saw hex the unwitting girl’s head. McCormick quickly clapped his hands together upon seeing her approach. 

“Did you hear me?” Hermione prodded a finger to Malfoy’s shoulder, causing his muscles to tense at her touch. 

“Excuse us,” Lucius said to the student who quickly averted his gaze and pushed past Hermione in an all-too-desperate attempt to disappear in the crowd. 

“No,” Hermione cut off. “McCormick. Here, _now_.”

The student hesitantly approached.

“What’s that you’ve got in your hand?” 

His eyes darted from Hermione’s face to the face looming behind her. 

“Stop looking at Professor Malfoy—look at me. What do you have in your hand? Show me now.” 

It only took a finger or two to lift before Hermione let out a deep-rooted sigh that escaped from the depths of her frustration. 

“A Searing Snitch, really? Do you have _any_ idea how dangerous this is? You could severely burn the fingers of our Quidditch players. Is that what you want? Tell me where you got it now, or I will have Mr Filch pry the information from you using his own methods.” 

“Er, I—”

“I gave it to him,” Lucius Malfoy admitted, his voice ringing much closer than Hermione found comfortable.

“You _what_ _?_ ” Hermione turned toward the man, his blue eyes glancing down at her with a stillness that reminded her of deep-running waters. 

“Class is dismissed,” he said. Though his voice never rose close to her level of brashness, the previously frozen students dispersed as if sensing the storm that brewed over their heads from the electrifying tension between their two Professors.

Hermione was quick to grab the Searing Snitch from the student’s hands and had no reservations about deducting a whole fifty points from Slytherin before turning her tempestuous glare toward Lucius Malfoy. 

“You’ve lost your mind, Lucius. I-I don’t even know where to begin.” 

Her face stung with heat. It flared through her whole body, red hot. 

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t, and say you did.” 

“You forced, you forced students to _hex_ each other?” 

Words could not come fast enough to Hermione’s mouth as she struggled to identify what she wanted to scream about first. The fact that Lucius Malfoy had started to walk in the direction of the castle was almost entirely missed until she found herself standing alone.

“Where are you going?” she demanded. 

Hermione nearly tripped when his cane swung toward her ankles like a pendulum with each of his long, languid strides. 

“To prepare for my next class, what of it?” 

“You gave students dark artefacts, as _prizes_? Hey, stop— _excuse me_! Stop moving _right now_!” 

The broad form, long blond hair, and swishing robes froze abruptly at her words, and Hermione felt the thinnest shred of victory in her body—intermingled with a hundred other heated feelings. 

Lucius turned with excessive grace. It was as though he was merely glancing at a bird that twittered too loudly for his liking.

He took a step forward. And then another as his towering form overshadowed her. She fought the urge to shrink even more in his enormous presence, made bigger both by his exuding power, which he was adept at wielding like a weapon, and the fact that he was just over six feet three inches. His pointed chin jutted forward, and Hermione could see the faint crease forming near his nostrils—a sneer, the Malfoy speciality. Whether it was irritation or superiority that garnered the expression, Hermione did not care. 

“You can’t—” 

“I am reinstating Hogwarts’ Dueling Club,” he said, his tone silken as though he were throwing the Yule Ball and had asked her to be the guest of honour. “I should like you to participate.” 

“Like hell I wi—”

“If you choose not to, the responsibility of managing and teaching a horde of duelling students would fall solely upon me… though now that I say it aloud, it sounds like quite the exciting challenge. Don’t you think? So many young and hungry minds to mould. Perhaps you’re right; perhaps you should stay sequestered in your quiet room.” He spoke each phrase with a lilt, honeying each biting word. 

“Though if you _do_ choose to participate,” he continued, his calm gaze dragging meticulously from her eyes to her chest, and down to her hips where his stare lingered for a beat too long for Hermione’s liking. “Do be sure to refrain from wearing Severus’ old robes. The man deserves so much more than to have his clothing used for dress-up by a _silly little girl_. Have a productive day, Miss Granger.” 

Hermione stood gaping as humiliation crawled up her stomach and suffused in her cheeks in a deep flush. The embarrassment was so potent, it seared into her psyche and threatened to spill out in the form of angry tears. 

Lucius Malfoy’s blond head burned behind darkened eyelids as she buried her face in her hands, her shame interrupted only by the sound of the front entrance falling shut with a heavy slam. 


	3. In Darkness, Let Me Dwell

_In Darkness, Let Me Dwell_

Hermione thought that compiling a list of grievances against Lucius Malfoy would have been exhausting, but she found it to be an exhilarating task. 

She watched with a childlike impatience as the sealing wax slowly started to gleam and melt against the flicker of a flame. She held it above the parchment envelope, her eyes following the slow stream of wax as it trickled from the stick and fell in an imperfect pool at the juncture of the seal. With delicate care, she pressed her insignia stamp, forcing the excess wax to pool and spread outside of the stamp’s boundaries. 

If the prior four letters to McGonagall and the Minister weren’t enough to get through, this list of most recent incriminating activity would surely illuminate the unacceptable behaviour both she and the school had to endure on his behalf. She’d spent two months diligently making a case against the man; eventually, they’d have to listen. She was determined to make them. 

She hated everything about him: the pompous half-arch of his brow; the way his nose seemed so perfectly narrow and pointed, yet seemed to have perpetual folds near his nostrils that showed his obvious distaste at just about anything and everyone; his crisp clothing that seemed to cling a bit too tight to his form—accentuating the hard curve of his pectoral muscles and the thin blond hairs that caught the light and gleamed silver. She hated it all. 

It had been weeks of enduring his ever-creeping sadism which he wrought on his students in the name of “education.” He brought a live Kappa into the classroom and forced students to incapacitate the blood-drinking water-demon. He encouraged students to endure dozens of Billywig stings in order to build a tolerance to its magical effects. He taught them a slew of rare and exceedingly potent charms, hexes, and jinxes which he forced students to use on one another as “practice.” 

More than anything, his nonsense was bleeding into Hermione’s practice. It wasn’t enough that she was spending hours of her time cleaning up after the mess he’d made—ushering students to the Hospital Wing, taking diligent notes and identifying verifiable witnesses all in an attempt to address this so-called “teacher’s” tactics. 

The stress shattered her concentration. She had failed at least eight batches of Severus’ Levitating Solution despite having perfected the brew weeks prior. It— _He_ —was eating away at her like a festering wound. 

The empty corridors of Hogwarts echoed with her footsteps as she made her way toward the Great Hall’s letter-drop—a warmer alternative to delivering her letters than the long walk to the owlery. 

Her steps stilled as she heard the sound of sniffling and the huddled figure of a young boy appeared in a quiet alcove near the Gryffindor Common Room. Hermione slipped the letter in her pocket and approached the sobbing boy. 

* * *

“You’ve crossed a line—no, this is so much worse than simply crossing a line. You’ve—you’ve destroyed the good name of Hogwarts—you abused a child!” 

The sound of his irreverent laughter rang through the empty classroom and caused the fine hairs on Hermione’s arms to stand on end. Her vision blurred from the rage that rose through her with each measure of his amused chuckle. 

“This is _not_ funny, Lucius! He’s twelve years old, and he’s going to have nightmares for the rest of the year from the cruelty you made him endure, for what—for your sadistic amusement?” 

“Hmm.” He regarded her with a quirked brow and a tilt of his head. “Is that what I did?” 

His voice was low and clear, his posh accent emphasizing every consonant, so there was no confusion of his wealth, status, or snobbish attitude. He laced his fingers before him, quirking his head to the side and gracing her with thoughtful consideration as if he were patiently analyzing her. 

“Did you not have to face a Boggart when you were a student here, Miss Granger?” 

Lucius rose, and Hermione fought the flinch as the jarring sound of his chair scraping against the stone floor pierced her eardrums and mingled with the fury she was trying desperately to control.

“Yes, but Professor Lupin was right there!”

“Ah, so when a werewolf decides to teach a lesson, you have no issue, yet when I teach the same, then I’m a _sadist?_ ” 

“Remus didn’t lock us in a closet and force us to fight it without teaching the proper spell!” 

Lucius leaned against his desk as he casually coiled the scroll he’d been reading, his lips half-upturned and eyes twinkling with amusement amid the faint glow of flickering candle-light.

Hermione could have pinned him to the wall and struck that amusement right off his pretty face. She would have been happy to give him a reason to commiserate with Draco over the taste of a mudblood’s fist. 

“Of course, he didn’t. The beast always enjoyed having children in close proximity, didn’t he?” 

“You dare!” 

Hermione stormed toward the ex-Death Eater who remained perfectly still as his eyes calmly followed her. Her hand dove into her pocket seeking her wand—for what, she didn’t know—but as her fingers curled around the ivy wood she felt her body slam _hard_ , as though she’d collided with a wall. A grunt escaped her lips, and she felt her muscles stiffen and tense against the magical hold that rendered her body useless. 

Hermione’s eyes widened as she observed him mutter another quiet incantation.

“L’t me guh!” she forced against clenched teeth. Her feet dangled as she was suddenly lifted from the ground and with a quick whoosh she was swung backwards, her shoulders colliding hard against a thick wooden chair that hardly moved despite the force of her landing. 

“Oh, my dear Miss Granger,” Lucius said, his voice almost melodic in his chastisement. “A Professor at Hogwarts and still in _desperate_ need of learning...” 

She felt as the legs of the chair stuttered forward, scraping loudly from the weight of her body as Lucius summoned it—and her—toward him. She tried to squirm her shoulders and arms, but her movements stopped abruptly as the chair rammed against the edge of a student desk. It dug into her ribs and pushed the air out her lungs in the form of a sharp cry. 

“Fret not, Miss Granger. I have no problem teaching you a thing or two about—” 

He let the words dangle as he took a step toward her, his hand clasped the long black cane with silver serpent handle as he twirled it around toyingly. 

“—common _decency_.” His hips brushed against the other end of the desk. “Is that alright with you, Miss Granger?” 

“Nnnn—” 

“Perfect,” he continued as he took a step back and paced in a circle around her. “I have heard all about your recent mission to discredit and defame me. Perhaps you have a problem with my current role here at Hogwarts, and you’d like to see me displaced. Is that it? I should think so...”

A hard shiver crawled down her spine as she felt a sole finger run from the curve of her jawbone to the back of her neck, scooping her curls and drawing them backwards until her neck and throat were bare. Her skin rose in pin-pricks, and her body felt like it was burning as Lucius leaned over behind her. The heat of his breath brushed against her cheek.

“You have been nothing if not a nuisance to me for several months now...” 

She struggled against the bind of the spell, fighting to release her muscles and give him the hardest punch in the bollocks. Kill the possibility of any future Malfoy heirs.

She jumped when his cane cut through the air with a whoosh then slammed hard on the desk before her. Her whole body erupted in a shiver. It lingered where his whispers brushed against her cheek and trickled down her spine to linger south. It lived there, pulsing calmly and quietly to the tune of her racing heartbeat, and stinging with a warmth that rivalled his hot breath against her skin.

“Pay... _attention_ , Miss Granger,” he said. “I thought you were supposed to be a good student. But you’re not, are you? No, you’re rather naughty. And they made you a professor? Hmm.” 

Hermione let out a muffled whimper as he withdrew, leaving the cold empty air to fill the space. She could not see him, had no inkling of what he was about to do to her. 

She shut her eyes and let her mind drown in a flurry of racing thoughts. Everything was quiet, save for her heart that pounded red hot blood. It burned in her body and made her skin grow alight with frustration. 

“I will ask this of you once,” his voice rang from behind her head, and she felt a single frightened tear seep from her eye as her tired muscles fought against their exhaustion and an impending sense of defeat. She shut her eyes, praying for the end of the blasted binding so she could give him the tongue-lashing he so deserved.

“Stop your measly, pathetic attempt at removing me from my post. I am perfectly aware that you’ve been making inquiries about me with the other Professors. I know too well that you’ve written to the Minister himself begging to have me removed...” 

“Mmm!” she cried out, jumping at the sensation of a sharp pressure digging into her throat.

The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the bottom of the silver snake-head attached to Lucius’ cane. Her shoulders twitched, helpless in their attempt to suck in a full breath as Lucius pressed the bottom of his cane hard against her throat.

She could feel the pulse in the pit of her stomach, could sense her spine wanting to arch and press into it. The cane scraped up the tender skin and forced her face upward as his eyes openly drank in the sight of her. Helpless, trembling, frightened. His gaze narrowed curiously, unreadable as he pulled the cane away and her throat widened as she gasped. 

“You will not succeed,” he said, coating his voice with an edge that wasn’t there before. 

In a quick blur of white and silver, he leaned over the desk. His fingers found her jaw, and he dug his thumb and index fingers into her cheeks until they grew hollow. He drew her forward until his face hovered a mere breath away from hers. The world around her disappeared as his long silver locks framed her vision and allowed her to see only him.

“You know what I am capable of. Do you think I have any qualms with playing dirty, girl? Would you like to see me try?” 

She could smell the tea he’d just been sipping. Her lips grew hot with his heavy breath as his fingers dug into her skin and held her still. 

“Do you understand me, Miss Granger?” he asked. His words were a delicate, almost tender, whisper, not at all laden with the threats he’d openly cast on her. 

It took her a moment to realize that her binds had come undone, a dense rush of tingles flooded over her skin as blood swept back through her arms. Yet, his fingers remained. His face lingered as his eyes pierced into hers. 

Hermione did not move.

Even as his fingers dug so deep into her cheeks that she could feel them scraping against her teeth, and his lips hovered close enough to taste, she stayed utterly still under his keen gaze. 

He slowly lifted a brow. Hermione could see the challenge in his gaze, waiting, patiently waiting for her to recoil. 

But she didn’t want to. 

It wasn’t logical. No, not at all. If logic had room in Hermione’s mind to chime in, it would have told her to pull away and run to the furthest part of the castle, far from this truly awful man who had a bewitching effect on her body. But, logic was drowned out by the sound of her heart galloping in her ribs, stifled by the sensation of her skin which felt as though its first layer had been stripped, raw against the hot tingles that coursed through her. 

His grip on her jaw slowly loosened, and Hermione felt the first flash of relief. Good, she didn’t have to make a choice. He was pulling away first—or so she thought.

She nearly whimpered when his hand _didn’t_ raise from her flesh. 

Instead, it trailed down, fingers and palm capturing every bit of her soft skin as he pressed against the smooth ivory flesh of her throat.

His fingers twitched infinitesimally. His grip slowly tightened. 

He squeezed against her deep inhale, against the rapid pulse of her heart that only quickened with his lingering touch. He held her breath in his hands. She knew he could feel each pull of her lungs, each almost-sigh that passed her lips. 

Clear surprise flashed across his features when her breasts rose and back arched into his touch. It surprised her, as her whole body leaned forward into his touch. She could see the surprise melt from his face as his gaze lingered on her full lips and he gave a— _squeeze_. There was no air to fill her lungs. The pressure of his grip filled her mind with a heady intoxication and caused that bubbling tension between her legs to throb.

Her lips were already tingling from the oxygen he was depriving them, but heat too flooded her face as Lucius’ eyes narrowed and grew dark, dropping from her own to her lips. 

With his tight grip around her throat, Lucius drew her forward, his gaze flashing back to find hers where she peered at him, eyes open and entranced—until they weren’t—until her lids fell shut as, with the slightest bend of his body, his lips touched hers. The sensation was soft, softer than anything Hermione thought Lucius Malfoy was capable of. 

The kiss lingered, soft and patient as he waited for her to pull away.

It was when she _didn’t_ that something within the ex-Death Eater seemed to snap.

His gaze flicked from her lips to her eyes. Blue met brown, and for a brief moment, neither moved. 

Until he kissed her, _really_ kissed her. Lucius’ lips crashed into hers; his lips parted and tongue slithered into her mouth like he was entering his own domain. Hermione hardly jumped at the jarring sound of his cane crashing to the floor; she barely flinched as his hand slipped into her hair and tugged hard, fighting for control over the grip that he maintained on her throat. He tasted like desire and sin—it was wrong; all of it was wrong. But as his tongue pressed against hers, she felt equal pressure on the hot pulse that coursed through her. Lightning burst in her belly and cascaded its wild electric sparks through her skin, and down between her legs where she squeezed. 

She had no say in her body’s response. That much was certain.

And yet, the fact hardly comforted her as—to her horror—she heard herself. She felt it coming: the build in the base of her throat as the sound crawled up her windpipe, squeezed from under his controlling grip, and released into the world. A moan. Quiet, contented, and utterly feminine in its wistful pleasure. 

The sound, though soft, was enough to burst the carnal tension that lived between them.

Hermione watched under heavy lids as he pulled away. His lips, which remained a hair’s breadth away from hers, tensed with curiosity then slowly—as the sound of her moan echoed through her mind and made the tops of her cheeks grow hot and red—he smirked. 

She could hardly feel his fingers loosen and drop lower until they grazed her clavicle and fell away completely. She could barely feel her lungs fighting for air as he withdrew and the light of the candles flooded her vision and made the cold blue stare of Lucius melt away into a look that she had never seen before. 

“Heed my words, Miss Granger,” he said, his voice louder than usual, as though to push through the breathy hoarseness that accompanied his words. He straightened up and ran a cool hand through his hair as she remained stunned in her chair. “I won’t hesitate to teach you a lesson, should you need it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always welcomed and appreciated! 
> 
> S


	4. His Golden Locks

* * *

_His Golden Locks_

Hermione groaned as she rolled over onto her stomach, her arm lazily dangling over the edge of the bed as she buried her face into her burgundy satin pillow. Consciousness seeped in with the sunrise, illuminating the nocturnal crevices of her mind and beckoning her decadent dreams into awareness. A glint of silver. A flash of green. Heat, and tension, and an underlying humiliation which blossomed throughout her body and settled in her cheeks. 

She sprung up with a gasp, shaking her mind of its contents as she quickly withdrew from her bed—creating a vast distance between herself and the spot of her bedroom where her mind wandered beyond her rigid control. 

She gripped the curtains and yanked them backwards, letting the sunlight pour into her room. Even for a Saturday, she’d overslept, having missed breakfast (though Hermione had intentionally skipped several breakfasts and most communal meals if it meant seeing _him_ ), and was woefully behind on her studies. 

Life had all but returned to normal since her encounter with Lucius Malfoy in the classroom. 

Since then, Hermione had only run into him once. It was an early evening as she had completed her last class and was making her way to her quarters, her nose buried in a book as she re-read a dense paragraph on _Industrial Era Potion-Craft in Northern Germany_. Her reading stopped with a hard and painful force. Hermione suspected that she’d walked into a wall (it would not be the first time), but when she scrambled up, she embarrassingly learned that it was the rather hard chest of Lucius she’d just collided with. The glare she received was more than enough to keep her from staying—as if she would want to linger around that horrid, perverse man—and she scurried away without further complication. 

Beyond that embarrassing encounter, her plan, it seemed, had worked. She had relinquished all effort to get Lucius in trouble, and he had all but stopped bothering her. That was, except when Lucius went for his morning runs. That bothered her _very_ much. 

The discovery occurred when, on a quiet Saturday morning, Hermione made her usual morning tea. She busied herself with a quick swipe of her wand that caused her tea kettle to spring to life, the water within rising to a boil while she idly dropped a tea bag into her cup. She’d let out a grateful sigh as she took in the beautiful sights of Hogwarts, her gaze drifting idly over the lush greenery and... the blond bobbing head of Lucius Malfoy on his morning run. His long hair, tied neatly in a ponytail, seemed to flounce around with the rest of him as alabaster skin curved with the ripple of lean muscle and a taut form. For a sinful moment, she’d considered it quite a gorgeous image for such a lovely mornin—

Hermione gasped and recoiled from the window, her teacup falling to the floor with a loud shatter. 

Sodding Malfoy. What the hell was he doing running around on Hogwarts grounds on a Saturday morning? 

She glared at the image of him, though he was too far to notice or care.

Hermione approached the window with another wary step, watching as he headed for the perimeter of the Greenhouses. Did he run the whole perimeter of _all_ the buildings? Ugh. What an obnoxious over-achiever. 

Yes, it was quite the bother. And that was just the _first_ day. 

His morning runs grew exceedingly more frequent and eye-catching. Hermione thought she imagined it at first; initially, he would take his morning jog wearing a regular tee-shirt and running shorts, however as the days went on—as Hermione drew back the thick drapes and cradled her morning cup of black tea—she observed the shirts growing tighter, the sleeves growing shorter, until one day he seemed to opt out of wearing a shirt altogether. 

The bright blush that crawled in Hermione’s cheeks that day was a sight to behold; she could see it in her reflection of the window. It lingered on her face as her eyes slowly moved with the lithe, sprightly man whose muscles rippled in a way that belied his age. 

Her tongue darted out and wet her lips. Lucius had disappeared around one of the Greenhouses and was due to reappear any moment. 

She lifted the teacup to her lips and sipped the sweetened liquid.

She watched the glint of silver as he reappeared around the corner and—

Hermione froze, the cup pressed in place as she saw it: his blond head, his defined pectoral muscles, his pointed features, and his _eyes_. 

They were staring right at her. 

As he turned the corner to the Greenhouse, he had slowed to a walk. His arms crossed against his chest and his cold blue eyes peered up at her.

_Could he see her?_

Hermione slowly lowered the teacup from her lips and placed it on the table; the liquid sitting in her mouth was suddenly hard to swallow. 

He couldn’t possibly see her so high up...

Her heart stuttered when his hand rose, and he waved a few of his fingers, his expression staying as neutral as if he were wearing a mask, save for the faint smirk on his lips that, whether she could see it or not, she knew was there. 

She stumbled backwards, her face a raging shade of pink as she bit on her lower lip and sought to find relief for this humiliation. 

It was the same humiliation she’d endured in the classroom.

What the hell was wrong with her? Why didn’t she pull away from him? 

Why did she moan when his fingers squeezed her throat?

 _Why did she let him kiss her?_

Even the thought of it, the memory of his hand gripping her and _squeezing._ The taste of his lips! It caused a ripple to cascade through her body. His mouth was hot and delicious as his tongue ravaged her, and for a moment she envisioned it drifting over the rest of her body, tasting and nipping with the same forceful assertiveness with which he’d claimed her mouth. 

Hermione wanted to scream. 

Perhaps she was sick? Perhaps she was poisoned? 

That must be it. 

She was tricked. 

He must have hexed her somehow.

She wouldn’t put it past the man. 

* * *

It had been an exhausting day, though most Wednesdays were. 

Things had taken a turn for the worse during her lesson with Second Years, when a young Gryffindor boy named Philin Dreary incorporated three times the required Valerian Sprigs to his Sleeping Draught, causing the whole of the Potions classroom to be filled with a cloud of dense purple smoke. It took out nearly half of the classroom, causing many of them to pass out, fast asleep, when they inhaled the potent vapours of the incorrectly brewed draught. 

As if that weren’t enough, during her last class of the day, double Potions with the Seventh Years, Hermione discovered a rather crude drawing in one of the students’ desks. It was an ink sketch of _her_ , in a rather compromising position, wearing only the unbuttoned black robe of Severus Snape. 

It took so much of her to not break down into a mess of tears at the humiliating doodle.

The day was enough to make her hair turn grey, made worse by the fact that she’d spent several hours after class stress-scrubbing her classroom and searching high and low for any companion art pieces that may have been tucked away in unsuspecting corners. She was so engrossed in cleaning and feeling sorry for herself that she missed dinner. 

Thus, Hermione determined, it was entirely justifiable to spend the rest of her evening under the covers with a rather saucy edition of _Knights of the Animagi_ and a bottomless glass of Plum-Wine. 

“Shit,” she muttered as she lifted the near-opaque dark green bottle. She peered into the bottom of it to confirm her fears: it was empty. 

Hermione released a deep exhale to keep from truly crying this time. The news was even more devastating than finding the sketch. 

Her brows tightened, and a look of sheer determination crossed her features as she slipped on her thick dark-red dressing gown and marched out of her bedroom. If she couldn’t have wine, she could at least hound the Hogwarts House-Elves to give her a pound of their finest chocolate. 

* * *

The quiet, evening corridors of Hogwarts were filled with nostalgia as memories of her adventures with her two best friends swept through her mind. But it often had the same pattern, starting as a warming childlike joy, and quickly fading into a sorrowful yearning of days gone by. Everything had changed after the war, and there was no going back. Harry and Ron were not in the castle, they were at home with their wives and children, and Hermione had little to no friends to adventure with anymore. Besides, she was far too old for that kind of thing anyway. Still, it felt good to be out of bed at night. She didn’t know why, but it made her heart race and a certain sense of naughtiness often overcame her.

Hermione thanked the House Elves profusely, dropping off a fresh set of tea-towels for them to fashion into their Hogwarts uniforms. It had warmed her to discover that they’d learned to keep a stash of assorted candies and chocolates for her, given the growing frequency of her visits. 

She unwrapped a white-chocolate bonbon as she slowly made her way up the moving staircase. It stopped with a quiet jerk at the third-floor landing. Not the usual route, but she preferred it that way. This was, after all, the best time to explore the empty hallways and hidden nooks and crannies of Hogwarts Castle. 

“I know, I know, but—”

Hermione stilled, her third truffle, this one dark chocolate with orange, held between her teeth as she dared not move a muscle. 

It was late, _quite_ late for someone to be out and about. With the exception of the Heads of House who were allowed to patrol the castle in the evenings, there were to be no students out of bed. She rose to her tip-toes, suddenly giddy at the idea of catching students out of bed. Ooh, perhaps they were snogging in a quiet alcove! 

Hermione quickly chewed and swallowed the chocolate and straightened her spine, her jaw clicking in place as she prepared to take away a dozen or so house points. 

Her eyes narrowed, ears perked, and she took several silent steps toward the Serpentine Corridor, navigating its many blind spots and winding walkways. Hermione stopped. There was a thin line of light that shone on the ground, and her eyes trailed to the source: a door, left just an inch ajar as the wavering light of a fire cast its warm glow through the cracked crevice. 

Interesting. Not a student, she gathered, given that the doors to classrooms and offices were locked during the evenings. 

Her hand slipped into the pocket of her dressing gown as she searched for her wand under dozens of wrapped candies and chocolates.

“But what if I just came for a short visit? An hour, even?” 

Hermione stepped silently toward the sound. 

“Yes, but Draco, I’m her _grandfather_. I should—yes, I know what the situation is! But don’t you think I should at least meet her? She’s nearly two years old for Salazar’s sake! Will you keep her from me forever?” 

Her muscles froze in place at the words. Her fingers wrapped tightly around the wand in her pocket as her knuckles grew stiff and white. 

What was Lucius doing out of his room at this hour? 

Hermione glanced around in either direction before realization slowly dawned on her. Third Floor. Serpentine Corridor. It was his office. He hadn’t left his office? Her eyes darted as she tried to determine the best route for a quick and silent exit, but all thoughts of leaving dissipated as Lucius spoke again.

“Don’t you understand what this is doing to me? I miss you. I’ve hardly seen you since your mother left—no, let me talk, _please_. I know you’ve heard all this before, but I just—I just want to meet my granddaughter. She’s spent the whole summer with Narcissa in France, why can’t I just meet her?” 

It was like a heavy stone fell down her throat and landed hard in her stomach. Still, she couldn’t help but listen. It wasn’t a conscious decision to move toward the sound, but the inflexion of his tone, the way he was pleading so softly, it hardly sounded like him.

Wait, no. 

She wasn’t feeling bad for the man. She couldn’t be; he deserved this fate. He deserved to be discarded by his family, deserved to lose the power and prestige that he’d cultivated through cruelty and cunning. He _deserved_ this.

“I thought working here would show you, I’m trying. I’m trying so hard. I’m doing good things to show you I can change.” Lucius’ voice cracked as he spoke. 

Hermione glanced carefully through the sliver of light where the door remained barely ajar until she saw the faint flicker of green light in the fireplace. Hermione could scarcely make out Lucius’ profile, though she could tell by the way his fingers shook when he ran them through his visibly messy hair and the way his collar was askew and undone that he was a wreck.

“My students are learning so much about fighting against darkness. You should see; you’d be proud to see what they can accomplish. They’re years ahead. Please, my boy… I just want to see my son and my granddaughter.”

Hermione bit into her lower lip as she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the tears that suddenly burned in her eyes and threatened to spill. Mirror neurons, she was sure of it. It was just his tone that was striking something in her. Something that made her heart crush in her chest and her whole body wanted to shake with desperate sobs at the sound of his words, the way he pleaded to his son. Why wasn’t he just letting Lucius see his granddaughter? Hermione had heard that her schoolmate had a child a few years ago, but she had no idea…

Stop. 

He deserved it. 

He had done this to himself.

Yet, even as she thought the words, Hermione could feel them losing strength in her mind. Could he truly deserve to be separated from his family like this? 

“Astoria is being fed nonsense by your mother. She never could forgive me after everything that happened. She has no idea. I did what I had to do for you and your mother—for your safety! For Salazar’s Sake, Draco, is there nothing I can do?” 

There was a pause, and Hermione could hardly make out Draco’s hushed whisper from the fireplace. 

“Yes, thank you, thank you! That’s all I want, just ask her—even just an hour.” 

Hermione stood petrified, scared of moving even a minute muscle as the green flames went out. She could hear her heart pounding. Her head felt light as she managed to let little breaths out, the weight on her chest nearly suffocating as she fought the urge to burst into tears. 

It was all futile when what she witnessed caused her heart to shatter. 

Lucius Malfoy bowed forward, his head cradled in his hands as though deep in prayer. His long shadow, which formed as the now-orange flames roared into life, made his slumped body appear unusually small.

For a second, Hermione questioned whether what she was witnessing was real, but when his shoulders started to shake, and the sound of a helpless sob escaped his lips, all shred of hatred for the man shattered and was replaced by a resounding sense of pity. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment/leave a kudos if you are enjoying this!


	5. Disdain Me Still, That I May Ever Love

_Disdain Me Still, That I May Ever Love_

The tip of Hermione’s finger turned purple as she tightened a thin, loose string of her robe around it. She mindlessly rolled and unrolled the thread, the anxious exhale passing her lips hardly registered as she fidgeted. 

Her weight swung from the tips of her toes to her heels as she avoided looking at the sea of chattering students. Though the room was buzzing with excitement, Hermione would have preferred to spend her afternoon in any other way. She was not one to volunteer to be on stage, nor did she consider herself a particularly skilled duelist. Yet it was she that received a notice from McGonagall urging her to help Lucius run Hogwarts’ own Dueling Club.

She shot the back of his head a wary glance as he huddled in quiet concentration with the designated referee of the Dueling Club, a Seventh Year Ravenclaw who looked at Lucius with unabashed admiration. Even seeing the ex-Death Eater’s hair (which Hermione had grown used to seeing flounced about every sodding morning during his runs) stirred a sense of dread she was so apt at avoiding. Hermione had taken absurd measures to ensure she’d have no run-ins with him after having shamefully overheard his extremely private and vulnerable conversation with Draco. 

Yet here she bloody was. 

Patiently waiting for him to turn around and tell her where to stand and what to do, all while she had to pretend that she didn’t know his secrets and started to suddenly feel sympathetic for him. Fantastic, just the sort of thing Hermione needed to complicate her life. 

Ice filled her lungs as Lucius turned from the student, and his eyes landed on her. His gaze could’ve lasted a second, or it could have been frozen in time, Hermione had no sense of awareness as he peered at her with his typical cold apathy, as if she could have been a stranger to him. Hermione couldn’t decide if this was more insulting than if he regarded her with malice, but she didn’t dwell on it as Lucius slowly turned with a graceful swing of his robes to address the students. 

He spoke eloquently, a natural leader, as he described the history and purpose of duelling. The crowd fell silent and the students watched with wide, unblinking eyes as they clung to his every well-chosen word. 

Hermione’s lips tightened into a line as she stared down at her feet. She’d never quite been able to command an audience like that, and she couldn’t understand what exactly they all found so fascinating about the man that, of course, was good at duelling given his history.

She nearly jumped with Lucius cleared his throat and slammed the bottom of his cane hard against the ground, demanding her attention. She glanced up and saw him standing across from her, clearly ready to begin.

There were only six steps to the centre of the raised, wooden platform, and with each steady step, she could feel her confidence rise, that loyal lion within her roared with pride burgeoning at the opportunity to prove herself. 

“Miss Granger.”

Lucius offered his hand as they convened in the middle. An antiquated artifice of good sportsmanship, no doubt, yet Hermione felt her throat tighten as his fingers squeezed around hers.

“Hello, how are you?” Hermione asked, a forced, polite smile crossing her lips. 

Lucius lifted a brow, his blue eyes drifting to her surely-reddening cheeks, then to her lips, though they hardly lingered there as his gaze snapped back in place to her own. It was astonishing how quickly his features hardened into a cool sneer. With the slight upturn of his chin, he regarded her like she was a pest hardly worth squashing.

“I suspect you remember how to duel?” 

“I’ll do fine, Lucius,” Hermione said under her breath.

His eyes narrowed at the sound of his name, and Hermione struggled to identify the emotion that flitted in his darkened eyes before his hand withdrew sharply from her own. 

One. 

Two. 

Three. 

They waited for their mark, and in an instant, they both swivelled on their heels, arms raised above their heads. 

“ _Flipendo!_ ” Hermione called out. 

With a flick of his wand and an easy deflection charm, Lucius cast the spell aside like a crumpled piece of paper before he snapped his wrist and cast a leg-locker curse. 

She dodged the spell with a swift turn of her hip, causing it to strike the wall behind her. 

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ”

“ _Protego_ ,” Lucius said, as Hermione’s scarlet spell struck his shield and bounded quickly toward her, striking her in the arm as the wand snapped out of her fingers and landed in the crowd of students. 

“ _Incarcerous_ ,” he said, the word slow and lazy. 

Thick ropes whipped out of the tip of his wand and wrapped around her shoulders, down her arms, and squeezed around her knees, casting her in a tight cocoon. 

“If you know that your opponent is woefully predictable,” Lucius said, turning casually toward the students while his wand dangled from his fingers and pointed at Hermione’s wobbling form. “You may know which spell they are apt to use first and can counter it. For example, Miss Granger—”

Lucius glanced at her with a taunting little smirk she wanted to smack off his mouth. 

“—often utilises the _very_ obvious wand disarming spell. At Hogwarts, you are taught to avoid trouble—disarm and run—but the real world is not that simple, is it? Now, Professor Granger is without a wand and helpless to whatever my creativity determines.”

Lucius stalked toward her with overwhelming patience, unruffled by her murderous glare. Her face burned from equal parts embarrassment at being cast so ineffectually in front of her students, and from the physical exertion of struggling against ever-tightening binds that squeezed her muscles and made her bones ache. 

“That’s enough,” she spat, her voice a pressured whisper, panicked, even. 

His wand dug into the side of her rib, threatening to push her off balance. 

“Is it?” His voice matched her soft volume, though his words were as calm as still water. “I think it hardly an appropriate penalty for _eavesdropping_.” 

A cold shudder poured over her. 

_He knew._

But how?

“There are several routes,” Lucius said, turning toward the students who watched with bated breath, “that one may take in asserting both dominance and control during a duel. _Humiliation_ —” 

Lucius’ wand dug into her side as he spoke. He pressed hard, forcing her back as she struggled to balance her weight. She looked at him with wide-open eyes, a clammy sweat forming on her forehead as she nearly whimpered. 

“We could loosen the ties around her knees and make her dance with _Tarantallegra._ Perhaps the stinging hex to teach your opponent a lesson? Or, both?”

He drew back his wand and with a quick swish and flick, Hermione felt her whole form grow weightless. She almost felt like she was falling, her whole body seemed to be pulled upward as gravity itself fell away, and she kicked her legs to find nothing underneath them. 

Every passing second, she rose higher and higher as Lucius carefully levitated her helpless form. Her arms flailed around her, hardly conscious of the fact that the ropes had disappeared; he hardly needed them as she had nothing to grasp onto or throw at his smug face given the height with which he held her. 

Her lungs felt stuffed as she struggled to catch a breath, panic swelling in her while her feet searched instinctively for the floor that wasn’t there. She could touch the levitating candles as her hair brushed against the room’s ceiling. 

“Let—me—down!” 

Lucius glanced at the students and then back to her with a soft shrug.

“If you insist.”

With another flick of his wand, Hermione’s stomach flung up her chest as she dropped helplessly down to the earth. Her landing was nowhere near the painful crunch that she’d anticipated as Lucius had—despite the cruel look that he’d given her—cast a cushioning charm to soften the blow. 

The sound of students applauding hurt significantly more than her fall and Hermione bit through the sting of humiliation as her fingers tightened around her wand, returned to her by a shy third year. 

She clicked her jaw in place and rose with a look of steely determination.

“Again,” she breathed, anticipating the arrogant smirk that would cross his face. 

The arrogance was his undoing as, on the mark of three, Hermione had cast four simultaneous spells that struck him without fail. The first was, to prove a point, the disarming spell which, despite his boastful lecture, _did_ work to disarm him. The spells that followed were sheer acts of vengeance as Lucius was thrust backwards with a Flipendo that landed square on his chest.

The third spell was a quick shield charm, and the fourth, her favourite—

" _Lucerno Oppugno_ ," she said with a smug smile. 

The spell caused the air above them to vibrate before, suddenly, a swarm of flickering candles fell to the earth with fury, aimed perfectly at her opponent. They landed and stung at Lucius like angry bees, spilling their wax on his opulent damask black suit. He was left fighting off the candles, with their hot flames that must have burned like little whips. The room grew dark as candle after candle extinguished with each forceful jabs against him.

She turned toward the students who stared wide-eyed at their Professors.

“You see, if you know that your opponent has a penchant for hubris—”

Hermione was thrust backwards, her thought unfinished as she collided hard against the stone wall behind her. Her breath escaped her lungs as she let out a groan.

Shiny black shoes filled her vision as Lucius’ dark shadow loomed over her. 

Her head rolled back as two strong arms gripped her by the elbow and dragged her onto her feet. He was wandless; Hermione hadn’t considered that he would use wandless magic during the duel. Rage burned through her, mixing with the headache that reverberated in her skull. 

The world was a blur, spinning from the near-concussion she’d just endured. She tried to blink it away, but her head pounded and her ears rang, and it suddenly felt impossible to breathe.

All she could see was the darkened room, white-blond hair, and two piercing blue eyes peering down at her.

She knew those eyes. 

She’d seen them before. 

Ice cold and vibrant under the shadow of his mask. 

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, but she could still see the mask, the long black serpentine lines that decorated his face and glinted silver. No, it was blue. A faint blue hue as each lit up prophecy reflected against the cold metallic surface. 

It made his figure obsolete; the rest of his face disappeared. Dissolved him into the dark room and left only the piercing blue eyes that stared at her with disdain. She couldn’t hear anything, her whole body felt like it was suddenly floating, and all she could sense was the terror that gripped her heart and made her want to shrink away. 

“Get away from me—” she cried out, her breath trapped in her throat as she struggled to escape him. Her fingers trembled uncontrollably as she pressed into his shoulders and tried to pry him off of her. 

“You all need to go! Run—get out—not safe! Go!” 

The eyes shifted, but Hermione could barely see as the world blurred into a flurry of blue and black. Rows of prophecies towered over her, but nothing quite like the hooded figure of Lucius. 

“Don’t touch me!” She shrieked as his grip tightened around her, holding her elbows in a tight bind. Her heart pounded with such ferocity it felt as though it was trying to escape her terror-stricken body.

Her breathing was ragged, strained. Her windpipe was closing; like the blurry space that darkened in her periphery, it slowly squeezed around her until she felt like she was suffocating. 

“Please—please—“

Hermione could hear her rapid, desperate breathing. Could feel the painful pulse that surged through her. 

The earth around her was fading, melting into a morass of panic. 

Everything went black, everything except those piercing blue eyes. 

* * *

“Thank you, Poppy. Just milk, please,” a man’s mellifluous voice carried its way into Hermione’s awakening ears. 

She stirred, the world a swirling combination of bright light and loud noise.

Everything felt awful. Hermione’s chest felt tight, like she’d just halted from a sprint she wasn’t prepared for, each breath strained like sand through a sieve. The space behind her eye ached with each pounding throb of her pulse. It radiated up the centre of her skull and made her want to slip back into the comfort of sleep. 

“She’s awake. Please, some chamomile tea for her.” 

Hermione’s lids felt weighed down by exhaustion as she slowly blinked. Long blond streaks, pointed thin nose, and pursed lips were the first things she saw before the familiar blue eyes met hers. 

“Good morning, princess. Have a nice nap?” Lucius asked, bent over the foot of her bed as he glanced down at her. His hands were curled in fists as they pressed down onto the hospital bed, one on each side of her blanketed feet. 

“Lucius...” Hermione whispered, her voice strained and aching.

She was met with silence as his lips tightened into a pale line. She didn’t want to look at it—the look of his looming disapproval. 

Instead, her gaze drifted to the only thing in the room that was moving: a transparent swirl of vapour raised from a delicate teacup on the side table next to the visitor’s chair. The space around her was unfamiliar, with its thick privacy curtains, plain wall decor, and small vials of tinctures hastily placed on the table. Her mind slowly registered that she was in a private room of the hospital wing. What was she doing here?

“Are you happy with your treatment of me, Granger?” 

“Treatment? Oh, _God._ ” Her eyes widened as she slowly recalled the humiliating event her tired mind pulled from a fog of memories. “All of those students—they saw me. Oh, no. I’m never going to live this down.” 

“I’ve already handled it,” he said, slipping into the visitor’s chair.

“Handled?” 

“The students won’t have any memory of our little tryst this afternoon.” 

Her spine straightened as she struggled to sit upright, the movement causing even more strain on her already pounding head. She winced, giving up her attempt to appear dignified as her torso fell back onto the stacked pillows.

“Won’t have any memory? You... tampered with students’ memories?” 

“Would you prefer they remember that debacle? You were screaming bloody murder as if I were about to violate your honour in front of your own pupils.”

“I was?” 

Hermione pressed into her forehead, rubbing the lines that had formed as she tried to remember the event. She remembered the humiliation she’d felt at his hand. She remembered her retaliation and a sense of victory. 

Screaming? Her throat did ache, as though strained and overused. Though as she sat there, attempting to make sense of it, her heart started pounding painfully in her ribcage. 

While she glanced dazed at her hands, attempting to recall the memory that was just an arm’s reach away, Lucius reached into his pocket and dropped a handful of wrapped candies on her bed. She glanced from the chocolates to Lucius, recognising them immediately as the assortment of sweets the house-elves kept for her in the Kitchens.

“How did you...?” 

“I found one outside of my office,” Lucius said, with a hardened tone. 

_His office..._

Hermione’s hand lifted to her mouth, horror displayed in her features as it all rushed back to her. He knew she had overheard his conversation, he had told her during the duel. He had been so cold in his treatment of her during the event and... 

Hermione glanced from the candies to Lucius, those blue eyes instantly familiar in the terror they had caused her.

To her continued horror, Hermione let out a sharp cry as tears sprung up and she covered her face in shaking hands. She didn’t know what to feel. Should she feel _guilt_ for eavesdropping? It certainly felt awful as she recalled the vulnerability of his voice and the way he pleaded with his son. Christ, she felt so bad. And to have done what she did during the duel—

“These aren’t here to punish you, girl, have some; they’ll help you feel better.” 

Hermione’s gaze lifted to meet his. He sat plainly, his hands folded in his lap and a look in his eyes that was neither menacing nor cruel. It did nothing to help the tears that dripped from her eyes, her mind an exhausting flurry of emotion and regret. 

There was a knock on the door, and Lucius sprung to his feet to attend to it, snapping the privacy curtains shut around her. 

“Thank you, Poppy.” 

Hermione heard Lucius say as she sniffled and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. Her lower lip trembled as she reached for one of the chocolates, a neatly wrapped green one. 

“Yes, she’s awake, but I think she needs a moment. Is there anything she needs to take? I already have Calming Draught at the ready.” 

“That should do it, Lucius.” She heard the high-pitched voice of Poppy Pomfrey respond from behind the curtain. 

“Let me know if she would like more Sleeping Draught.” 

Lucius slipped back into her space and was grateful that he was meticulous about closing the curtains, confining her embarrassing display of emotions to the inhabitants of the small room. 

The chocolate melted in her mouth and immediately helped her feel better, like she was warming from the inside out. 

Lucius gave her a long glance as he stood at the foot of the bed.

Everything in his features illustrated a facade of cold apathy. Yet the way his hair was ruffled and out of sorts, his shirt covered in long streaks of hardened ivory wax and dotted with burn marks, and the edges of his eyes creased as though he had done nothing but stress for the last several hours belied his concern. He hadn’t changed out of his damaged clothes? What was he even doing here with her?

He was worried more about his reputation than about her, no doubt.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said, her voice thin and shaking as she reached for another candy. “For listening—and for the duel.” 

Lucius let out a slow exhale as he handed her a cup of steaming chamomile tea. 

“There’s a vial of Calming Draught next to you if you’d like to add it to your tea,” he said.

They sat in silence for a moment. Lucius’ shoulders were stiff, as though holding in a much-needed sigh as Hermione brought the tea to her lips and let the lightly sweetened floral flavours warm her insides. 

“Where did you go?” His tone was soft, like he was soothing a skittish kitten. “That frightened memory. What did you remember?” 

“I think it was the Department of Mysteries,” Hermione said, her gaze lingering on the small sediments at the bottom of her teacup. 

“Ah. That’s why you were telling Potter to run.” 

It was silly, but Hermione wanted more than anything to fight the sudden heat that swelled in her chest and filled her cheeks. She could feel the sting of fresh tears in her eyes and wanted nothing more than to hide from him. 

“I’ve experienced it too,” Lucius said, his gaze distant and his tone as soft as a whisper. “That helpless fright. Was that your first time?” 

She shook her head, though it was suddenly filled with the weight of his words. The flashbacks were not as prominent following the battle and fall of Voldemort. They started a few years after that when her friends married and had started families. It was in her absolute moments of isolation that the anxiety and crippling memories would flood to the forefront of her psyche and force her to live in the panic. 

She took in the sight of Lucius. He looked so frazzled and out of sorts. Unlike the prim and pristinely put-together man she was so used to seeing gliding down the halls of Hogwarts. 

It was almost endearing. 

“Can I do nothing to escape my past?” He said softly, his eyes distant as if the question was meant more for himself than for her. “I’m not a Death Eater, anymore. I’ve paid dearly for my mistakes. Why can no one see that?” 

Hermione let out a soft breath, unsure of what to say. 

Perhaps several weeks ago, she would have had no qualms debating him on that. The man had a sordid history; he had done unforgivable things. But now, she didn’t know. On some level, she believed that he _had_ paid dearly for his mistakes. He’d lost everything: his status in society, his reputation, the love of his family. It wasn’t impossible to sympathise with him as he sat there, lost in the world, a culmination of regrets and bad choices collected, desperate for redemption as he fought to make a new life for himself.

She didn’t know what to say to comfort him. As her mind struggled to identify something to say to acknowledge his feelings, her body reacted instinctively as she raised her hand and reached over to him. Quietly, she pressed her hand to his knee. 

His muscles tightened under her touch, his gaze narrowed into focus, away from the melancholic distance that he was lost in moments ago. He glanced from her hand to her face. Her brows were knit, lips pulled in a small smile that, she hoped, conveyed how she felt—whatever that was. 

Hermione’s heart clenched in her chest as she felt his hand, soft and utterly warm, press against the top of hers. It held her there, as if afraid to break the connection between them. 

“You’re freezing,” Lucius said, suddenly glancing down to her hand, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Finish your tea, I’ll get Poppy to come check on you.” 

As Lucius left the room to summon the healer, Hermione sucked in a steady breath; it was the first full breath she’d taken since waking. Her gaze lingered on her hand, on the bit of skin that had warmed from Lucius’ touch. 

As she let her head fall back into the pillows, she allowed herself to feel it—the lingering emotion that dwelt under layers of hardened hatred: forgiveness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please consider leaving a kudos or comment and let me know what you think.
> 
> Syren


	6. Can She Excuse My Wrongs

_Can She Excuse My Wrongs_

Hermione’s eyes burned as she took in the bright panorama through the frosted window; it positively delighted her. A thick layer of white padded the cobblestone grounds and decorated the thatched cottage buildings of Hogsmeade village with picturesque charm. It warmed Hermione’s spirits to the bone, much like the delightful warm mug of Butterbeer. 

Hermione had been patiently waiting for the first snowfall, and it coincided perfectly with the annual Christmas trip to Hogsmeade Village.

She had received an urgent owl that morning, asking her to assist with chaperoning the Hogsmead trip after Madame Hooch had come down with a rather taxing form of Tenticulitus after consuming a mysterious bowl of Seafood Stew. It was definitely too much information for McGonagall to share, but Hermione got the message and accepted. Of course, she did, she wouldn’t miss this view for the world. 

Hermione let out a contented sigh as she sat back on her stool and let her idle eyes roam over the winter wonderland. Christmas decorations clung to the windowsills of the stores, and the white fluff that filled the gutters shined as though mixed with a healthy dose of Pixie Dust. 

Hermione sat alone, though she could hardly mind. Her chaperone partner, Lucius Malfoy, had been rather quiet on their journey over. She found it challenging to engage in conversation when they had dozens of excited students skipping, hopping, and otherwise running to their destination—all on freshly fallen snow. Once they reached the village, he had politely excused himself and ducked into Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop. It was probably for the better. Hermione didn’t know exactly what to say to him after their dramatic duel and slightly awkward encounter at the hospital afterwards. She didn’t even know _how_ to talk to him. 

Hermione was grateful, really, for the solitude. There wasn’t much to do once the students all began their exploration of Hogsmeade Village, anyway. She had no qualms sitting alone in the Three Broomsticks, Butterbeer in one hand, and a delightful book on the history of magical photography in the other. 

Her eyes glazed over the text as she watched a group of three or so goblins hauling musical equipment that were twice the size of their small bodies. They lumbered into the Three Broomsticks, settled down in the corner of the room, and in a few short moments live music began to fill her ears as the goblin band jammed to the festive tune of Yule Be My Bayberry. 

Hermione felt the hard wood of her stool dig deep into her thighs as she squirmed. She didn’t know what it was, but a cold shiver dragged over her body and made her feel a sudden sense of unease as memories flooded back to her. 

The merry music, the scent of old wood and dust, the saccharine flavour of butterscotch still lingering on her tongue—it was all so… familiar. Tears stung her eyes almost instantaneously as she glanced out the window to see a bobbing red-haired boy throw his head back in laughter before his friend shoved him into a large pile of snow. 

It panged in her heart. She fought the urge to chase it, but each sip of her Butterbeer seemed to bring her back to those joyous years of her childhood. She seemed to have no memory of pain or danger, despite her early teen years being wrought with impending and near-imminent death at many turns. No, the past glimmered in a golden filter of joy. 

She wondered if her friends ever thought of her. 

But no, their lives were full of life and laughter: children, family, love. 

She slammed her book. She didn’t know why she hadn’t opted to bring a Potions text, instead. Perhaps it would have made her feel more productive to be studying her craft rather than some silly hobby she would never actually participate in. 

Hermione slipped off her stool and let out a deep exhale as her legs instinctively took her out of the Three Broomsticks, leaving behind the warmth and boisterous cheer. She let her feet guide her, wandering up and down the cobbled streets as she considered where she should indulge in some much-needed therapeutic shopping. 

Ooh, therapeutic indeed! Hermione smiled as her eyes trailed up and landed on the bright green-and-pink sign of Honeydukes sweetshop. Yes, that would do just fine. 

As the door swung open, the delectable smell of sweets filled her nostrils and made her mouth immediately water. Freshly made fudge and baked Cauldron cakes filled her sight and begged to fill her stomach. She blindly grabbed a basket and began marching down the aisles, her fingers drifting over the bright and colourful packages and eyes roaming upward to take in the towering glass canisters full of colourful candies. 

“There you are,” the sharp masculine voice carried through the aisle. 

Hermione turned to see Lucius, his expression stoic as he glanced down at her.

“Oh, wow, getting your Christmas shopping done early?” She asked.

His arm was covered in an array of bags, from the Herbology store Dogweed and Deathcap to Gladrags Wizardwear, Tomes and Scrolls, and Scrivenshaft’s. Lucius gently manoeuvred the bags behind him, giving her a look that made Hermione feel like she’d just nosily pried into his business without invitation. 

She knew she hadn’t, they were just _bags_ , yet her ears grew pink, and her nose felt hot as she gazed down at her basket full of goodies.

“Not Christmas shopping just yet,” Lucius said, his tone less biting than Hermione had anticipated. “Are you ready? Many of the students have started to head back.” 

“Um,” she picked at her basket. She had a handful of Sugar Quills, a bag of Fizzing Whizzbees, a Skeletal Sweet or two, and about half a pound of treacle fudge. “Oh! Almost. Just missing one more thing.” 

Without further ado, Hermione made a beeline to the other end of the store. “Ah-ha!” 

She slipped her much needed final item into her basket before she turned on her heel to see Lucius, his head tilted to the side and eyes scrutinizing her collection of confections. He picked up the light-blue box of Peppermint Toads she’d just dropped into her basket and his gaze flicked from the carton to her face.

“What? They’re really good. It takes some time to get used to them squirming in your stomach, but they’re quite refreshing.” 

“Yes,” Lucius said, the creases around his eyes relaxing. “I know. They’re my favourite.” 

“Oh.”

“I hadn’t considered you’d have good taste in treats, Granger.” 

Hermione didn’t know whether she should respond with confusion or offence, but before she could decide, Lucius spoke.

“I haven’t had them in ages. Maybe since Draco was little.” 

“What? That’s—oof.”

“What’s wrong?” His brows narrowed with concern.

“It just hurt me to hear you say that. You’ve deprived yourself of the best chocolate treat for over a decade?” She turned on the ball of her foot and grabbed an additional box. “We are changing that today.” 

Before Lucius could protest too much, Hermione rushed to the register, leaving him standing by the exit like a doting husband, bags in hand, waiting patiently for his wife to finish their errands. For a moment, it made her feel awkward to have him waiting there behind her as she purchased something for him, but the hesitation evaporated with another passing second as she bounced, giddy, at the reminder that it was nearly Christmas and they were—at the very least—not having an awful time. How could she have an awful time anyway, they were in _Honeydukes!_

Hermione heard the awkward thanks he said under his breath as she slipped the box of Peppermint Toads into his hands and looked expectantly up at him. 

“What?”

“Have one!” Hermione said, ignoring his eye roll as she began opening the box for him. 

“Alright, alright, you’re acting as if I’ve never tasted chocolate before…” 

“That is how I feel, yes.” 

Lucius pinched two fingers into the box and withdrew a rather squirmy little peppermint toad before he dropped it into his mouth. He held eye contact as Hermione watched expectantly. She could see the tension in the corners of his lips as he fought to hide the smile that was growing at her eager insistence that she enjoy this moment with him. 

“Yes, it was delightful. Thank you. Can we go now?” 

“Yes!” Hermione hopped to it, hooking her fingers into the soft fabric of her knit scarf as she lifted it to cover her mouth in anticipation for the biting, beautiful winter air that swept toward them as soon as they stepped outside. 

* * *

The frigid weather herded many of the students into the stores or back to the castle, and it took about another hour to shepherd them out. The sun had started setting by the time Lucius and Hermione made their way back to the castle. The wind was blowing something fierce and tossing their hair in various directions. 

The combination of a warming spell and bubble charm addressed most of their discomfort but ensured that they would be walking in closer proximity than either party was used to. It was efficient to minimize the heat that escaped, but it did nothing to prevent the way Hermione’s hip would just barely brush up against Lucius’. She was flustered enough by the fact that Lucius insisted on taking Hermione’s bag which had grown rather cumbersome with its dozen or so ready-to-eat confections. 

She didn’t know quite when Lucius had shifted from the cold, rude sadist she had pegged him to be, into something of a quiet, proper gentleman who insisted on getting out of her way and making her life at least a little more tolerable. It was _pleasant,_ but it made Hermione stammer on her words and avoid eye contact anytime his gaze drifted toward her.

They had just about passed the perimeter of Hogsmeade village when Hermione heard shouting and laughter near the Shrieking Shack. 

The decision to intercede was swift as the two Professors bounded toward the group of rogue Sixth Years insistent on breaking into the Shack which Hermione knew well enough was only accessible through the Whomping Willow. 

“Watson!” Lucius’ voice carried loudly with the wind, causing one of the students to freeze in place. 

Watson turned around, his bronze face blanching to the shade of the snow around him.

“S-sorry Professor Malfoy,” Watson said, cowering. 

The other two students, who had been throwing snowballs at each other, stopped their impish activity and made their way toward their friend. 

“We’ll head back right away.” 

“You’d better, boy, or your father will hear about this.” 

Hermione swore she could almost see the student swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. She watched with amusement as the students broke into a run on their way back toward the castle, leaving the pair to stand in front of the tattered, abandoned building that was the Shrieking Shack. 

She glanced at Lucius, who was so close to her she could have leaned a little and ended up against him. 

“What?” Lucius said, lifting a brow. 

“Your ‘ _father will hear about this_ ’? I can see where Draco gets it from.” 

“Gets _what_ from?” 

Hermione turned away, shaking her head. Lucius seemed to drop the issue as well when the amusement faded from Hermione’s features, and her gaze fell on the empty, abandoned Shack. It stood still, in its quiet solitude, all life having left when the children scurried away. 

It was almost beautiful how the sky faded into a muted indigo over the greyish wooden planks and the sloping rooftop. It looked like it had never changed, frozen still in time. It transported her back.

She wished it hadn’t.

Hermione remembered what had occurred there. Suddenly, there was nothing but the trauma of that location as she stood mere feet from the site of the tragedy. 

She recalled the image of Severus Snape’s black eyes growing lifeless, his face unmoving and pale as though he was wearing a death mask—as though he wasn’t a human at all—as though he hadn’t just breathed his last breath in front of her. She was only eighteen. 

A lump formed in her throat at the memory. She cursed the bevvy of flashbacks that insisted on rising from the recesses of her mind. They had stilled and quieted for years, why, all of a sudden, were they being kicked up and given life anew? 

She missed Severus. It was never a romantic sort of miss, but she remembered him fondly. He was shrewd, disciplined, and exceptionally intelligent. After learning about his undying loyalty to the cause, Severus Snape had become the closest thing to an idol she’d had. 

Hermione could feel the tops of her cheeks grow hot as tears burned in her eyes. She sought to look away, to turn from her chaperone partner, but when she felt the warm touch on her back, it stilled her in place.

Hermione glanced at Lucius, the palm that pressed against her spine heavy against her. She fought the urge to lean into it as she took in the sight of him. She noticed the tension in his jaw, which jutted as if he was biting something back. His forehead was creased and brows furrowed. He glanced at her, and she could see the pain behind his eyes. 

How could she have forgotten the significance of this building to him? 

How could she have forgotten that he was tasked by Voldemort to fetch Severus’ body? 

Severus, his friend. 

Hermione could almost sense the tumultuous thoughts that flooded his mind. She could practically see the horror-filled images flash in his eyes as he stood awfully still. The cold facade melted, and the broken man had reappeared. The tender underbelly of his persona made itself known as he let out a shaky breath. His eyes were misty, and his shoulders heaved with heavy sighs that she could feel in his touch against her back.

Gods. What a fucking nightmare their lives had been. 

Her own eyes grew misty as Hermione recalled what she’d learned from Draco’s boasts in first year: Severus and Lucius were close during their time in Hogwarts, like brothers. She knew they had maintained that friendship even through adulthood. And, Merlin, Lucius was forced to endure the sight of his long-time friend’s lifeless form cast aside like he was disposable. 

He was. 

They both were. 

They had both paid their dues, dearly. 

Lucius’ gaze dropped to the floor and she could see him swallow. 

“We should go,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Yes, logically, Hermione knew they should head back and quietly walk to their quarters where they would equally process the pain of their past lives alone. It was the appropriate, logical thing to do.

But she turned toward him. Her hand slowly rose to his face.

It was cold, despite the warming spell, and trembling as his jaw clenched hard under her gentle touch. It made her heart squeeze in her chest as she watched him struggle through layers of emotion. She wanted to comfort him, wrap him in her arms. She’d wanted that since the night she discovered his vulnerability as he pleaded for a chance to have a family again. She wanted his pain to be gone. 

“Lucius,” Hermione whispered. 

She lifted her other hand to cradle his jaw, her fingers tender in their caress of his cheek as her eyes sought his. 

“I’m sorry,” he began to whisper, his brows tight as he swallowed. 

Hermione could see the solemnity in his eyes as they searched hers for understanding. She could feel his pulse under her fingers as they grazed against his neck, fluttering rapidly under her touch.

Gods, he looked so broken. She could see the weight of his life’s choices carried heavily on his back. She could feel the quivering, simmering emotion under the neatly-wrapped proper man that was just a mask for all the regrets he had. She wanted to wipe it all away, absolve him of his sins and allow him to take a full breath.

“I’m so sorry.”

Sorry for what, it didn’t matter. 

Hermione didn’t want to hear it.

She wouldn’t.

Hermione rose to the tips of her toes. Her fingers gently slipped into his hair, and her gaze dropped to his parted lips. She silenced his apology with a kiss.

He didn’t need to say it; it wouldn’t have made a difference to her. Hermione knew that the man she’d been attempting to get sacked wasn’t the same man who held her so tenderly it made her want to unravel in his arms. 

In all the ways that she could, Hermione understood what he was trying to convey. She had seen the cracks in his hard shell. It was this version of him she wanted—stripped of all pretence and reservation— as fragile and open as a man like him could be. Regardless of his past, he was pleading for a chance at redemption. 

Who was she to deny him of it?

He was so soft with her, as though afraid to shatter the moment. The bags slipped slowly from his hands. His fingers rose to her hair, cradling her head and tilting her to deepen the kiss. 

The exchange stung her insides. She felt like her body was sparkling with the same Pixie Dust that was scattered over the snow, igniting with such incandescence it felt like fire on her skin. 

He released her lips and ushered her into his arms, broad and warm as he held her and granted her that comfort she so desperately craved. The smell of warm cloves, sandalwood, and leather filled her head. He smelled like Christmas. Like a comfortable home that she could lose herself in. 

She let out a deep breath as she wrapped her arms around him, allowing herself a moment to lose herself in his embrace. She could hear the harsh wind whip outside of their warm cocoon. She could hear his heartbeat pounding with the same force as hers did. 

It beat harder when he glanced down, drawing her away only briefly as his palm ran over her cheek and pinched her chin. Hermione sucked in a sharp breath when his hand slipped lower, palm slowly trailing over her throat and neck. 

The way Lucius looked at her caused a warm rush to travel down her spine. His gaze burned with a look that was familiar to Hermione; she’d seen it before, in the classroom, on the night they’d shared their first kiss—the kiss that had crackled with such electric intensity that it still haunted her.

Hermione mustered a smile, desperate to diffuse the heat that had started to settle in her core and threatened to overtake her better judgment. 

Lucius trailed his thumb over the soft curve of her smile as he released a shaky breath. He had felt it too. 

He cast a long glance at the castle and Hermione nodded softly, her expression slightly crestfallen as she understood that their romantic exchange would be swept away by the cold wind with every measure of distance that grew between themselves and the Shack.

It sweetened some of her sadness when Lucius offered his hand for her to take. She slipped her fingers into his, letting him hold her in this small act of intimacy as they made their trek back to Hogwarts castle. 


	7. Come Away, Come Sweet Love

_Come Away, Come Sweet Love_

Hermione held her breath as the clock struck five minutes to class time. 

It was a Wednesday morning and Hermione stood with her arms folded in front of her chest, waiting patiently for her Third Year students to arrive for their double Potions lesson. 

The long hand of the clock ticked to the right, indicating that there was now _four_ minutes until the start of class. 

Hermione’s heart skipped a merry beat as her eyes roamed over the empty classroom. 

This particular class’ tardiness had become quite an issue for several months. It had made Hermione want to pull out her hair as she’d patiently wait for her Third Years to come in half-way through the hour, covered in boils, burns, and other marks of well-placed jinxes. Some of her students wouldn’t even come at all as they took a much-needed detour into the Hospital Wing. 

What irritated her most was how animated and spirited the students were as they sat in their seats and regaled each other on their experiences during the exciting Defense Against the Dark Arts class they just had. She doubted any of them spoke about _Potions_ like that. 

Today was different. 

Hermione’s eyes lingered on the door, willing it not to open. Praying it remained untouched by students. 

Three minutes. 

She fought the urge to smile as she rummaged in her desk for a mirror and some natural coloured rouge, applying it to her lips before she headed to the door. 

Since their moment of intimacy near the Shrieking Shack several weeks prior, Lucius had grown exceedingly prompt in releasing his students from class, just in time to get them all in their seats for Potions. 

She’d hardly seen him since that night.

At first, Hermione told herself it was a relief that he was actively avoiding her. She had quickly gathered that fact after he’d sent an owl to McGonagall stating that he’d come down with Fermentation Fever moments before their monthly staff meeting, yet was back to work the following day despite the fever having an incubation period of at least one week. 

To be fair, Hermione hadn’t decided what _she_ wanted after the moment they’d shared.

It had all felt so surreal. The memory of them on the snowy landscape as the sun went down. The way his lips tasted like warmth and comfort. The sensations that had coursed through her body and left lingering bursts of heat every time she remembered it. She felt as though the memory was suspended in a snow globe. A mere dream of a place she’d like to visit. Was it real? 

It felt real.

Managing her own emotions had been the hardest part as, with every passing day, she vacillated between shrugging it all off and wanting another taste. She’d wake up thinking about him. His vulnerability had seared itself into her heart and made her want to learn more about the man that simmered beneath the rigid walls and pompous attitude. 

Two minutes. 

Hermione couldn’t deny the excitement that bubbled up in her chest and was made obvious in the bounce of her step as she reached for the door handle of her Potions classroom. 

There was no way the students would all make it in time for her class now. He had definitely kept them late again. 

Finally, Hermione could say something to him. She had a reason to approach him and give him a piece of her mind—or whatever it was that she wanted to say. Truth be told, she had no desire to chastise him at all. 

She just wanted to _see_ him. 

This was her chance. 

One minute. 

_Might as well head over there and share some words now_ , Hermione thought.

She released a shaky breath, her eyes darting back to the desk in the corner of the room. 

Hermione hastily crossed the room, checked her reflection in the mirror again. 

She applied another layer of dusty rose rouge. She blotted some on her cheeks and smeared it to give her a healthy-looking glow.

_Okay, this must be enough. Pull it together, Hermione._

Eleven Fifteen O’Clock. 

Hermione bounced as she practically ran to the door and swung it open. 

“Ow!” she heard. 

The sound of chattering filled the enclosed space of the dungeon corridor, filled to the brim with students. 

“What’s going on?” Hermione asked the student closest to her, who clutched his face after having been hit by the door. 

“You left the door locked, Professor. We’ve been waiting out here for fifteen minutes.”

* * *

Hermione stretched out in her luxurious bed, her bones cracking with a pleasing release of tension before she reached for her wand and, with a swipe, the curtains flung open. She nearly squeaked with joy when she saw that it was snowing.

Snowing. On _Christmas._

Perfect. 

Her smile slowly faded from her face as she reminded herself to temper her expectations. She had not expected much from Christmas this year, or the years in the past. She’d learned the hard way how difficult it was to have Christmas alone. 

Yes, she had her students to take care of, and they in many ways needed her to put on a cheerful face and remind them that although they aren’t going home for Christmas—many did not have much of a home to go to anyway—Hogwarts would forever be their home. As it was hers. 

She watched from under warm, fluffy covers as the equally fluffy snow drifted from sky to earth, sprinkling the green grounds with its bright reminder of winter. 

Her eyes lazily drifted as she succumbed to the whim to sleep a bit more. As her lids grew heavy, she vaguely noticed the vivid colours and shapes under her measly four-foot-tall tree. It pulled her out of the lull of slumber, and she slowly peeled herself up. 

Presents. At least half a dozen of them. 

She slipped on her robe and her fuzzy slippers, actively attempting to stifle the excitement that was growing in her. She certainly hadn’t expected much. She was surprised to see more than the usual two, a yearly bottle of sherry from McGonagall which she’d send to all her staff, and perhaps a box of rock cakes from Hagrid. Harry and Ron would send her cards and merry wishes. 

She fell to her knees next to the tree as her eyes wandered over the array of gifts. She picked up a square box and gingerly unwrapped it. The smell of warm dough and vanilla filled her head and made her salivate instantly as she lifted the lid of the brown box and found a whole pie staring at her. 

She began reading the corresponding card: 

_Hermione dear,_

_Minerva told me how stressed you’ve been at work. Arthur and I are in Romania this Christmas. Otherwise, we would have loved to have you and the boys over. Hope you can celebrate with your friends at Hogwarts_ — _you can share some of the Gooseberry and Custard pie with them._

_All my love,_

_Molly and Arthur Weasley_

Hermione found it hard to swallow as heat rose from her neck up to the tops of her cheeks where they settled just under her eyes. Gods, Molly was an angel. Even after years of barely seeing her here and there, she was still able to make Hermione feel loved as if she was her own daughter. Hermione let out a shaking breath before moving the pie and card behind her and reaching for the next gift.

She grinned as she unwrapped a hand-made wooden lute from Hagrid. It was a medieval musical instrument that made just about any Christmas carol she’d enchant it to play sound soothing. She tore open the gift from Ron and Lavender: a box of homemade tea from their garden that Lavender had cultivated and grown herself. From Harry, she got a lovely grey scarf with soft beige tassels, clearly chosen by Ginny.

After opening the usual bottle of alcohol from McGonagall, Hermione was surprised to discover an additional gift tucked deep under the tree. She withdrew it and glanced down at the mysterious yet elegant chrome wrapping before tearing through the thick paper and black box within.

Hermione stared at its contents, her fingers gentle as they pinched the mysterious fabric and lifted it. It was a robe, but rather heavy for pure wool. It was a marvellous burgundy colour, with a slight shine to it. Hermione let out a choked cry when she pulled away to see the outfit in full.

It was a Potioncrafting robe, and it was _expensive_. 

Under Hermione’s fingers, the robe felt like a mixture of wool and silk, yet as she ran her hand over the sleeves, the fabric grew thicker and sturdier, clearly re-enforced by magical thread to be impervious to burns or acid stains. Buttons ran down the entire torso. The silhouette curved inward at the waist and flared out. It was incredibly beautiful and _feminine_. 

Hermione reckoned she never owned anything quite so lovely. 

She wondered who would purchase such a lovely present for her, but heat flushed into her face as she considered her primary suspect. She reached for the small piece of parchment tucked neatly between the folded garment and unfolded it, her heart pounding when she saw the elegant cursive handwriting.

_H,_

_Though it was fun to see you seething while swimming in Sev’s robes, I figured you’d do well to have your own._

_Hope you enjoy._

_He’d be proud of you._

_Merry Christmas._

_x,_

_LM_

Twin tears fell from her face and landed on the parchment. Her heart was so full; it felt like it might overflow with joy. She reached for the robe and held it tight against her chest, hugging it as she sobbed.

* * *

He wasn’t at Christmas dinner.

Hermione felt her heart sink as soon as she walked into the Great Hall and saw that he wasn’t there. Throughout dinner, she peered over to his designated seat at least a dozen times and still, no Lucius. 

It was nice to have Hagrid next to her, though she had visited him earlier that day to thank him for the lute and ask for lessons on how to play with her own hands. She’d quickly given up, preferring the pristine sounds of magic to her fumbling and aching fingers. Hagrid was warm as ever and had shared all the news he’d heard about Harry and Ron’s adventures in the Ministry. She informed him about Molly and Arthur’s trip to Romania—though that was all there was to share about it—and they’d resorted to talking about Hogwarts business as usual.

The conversation quickly died down, and she was left sighing into her plate. 

She stabbed at the food with her fork with no intention of eating it, her mind wandering. Perhaps Lucius had gone to visit Draco after all. She would be happy if he did; she knew how badly he wanted that. 

She let out another sigh, her stomach not quite interested in any of it. 

Hermione ducked out of the Great Hall before the firecrackers started. She made her way back to her quarters where she slipped into her most comfortable pyjamas and laid in bed for several hours finishing the fourth and final instalment of _Knights of the Animagi._ It felt like the most apropos way of finishing off Christmas evening, with saucy and salacious literature. It was with disappointment that she closed the book and found herself wanting just a bit more to make it through the night. Her heart was racing from the imagery in the book, and she hopped to her feet in search of something else to tide her over.

Her bookshelf was barren of anything more titillating than Gilderoy Lockhart’s _The Bandon Banshee_. Hm. Well, perhaps tonight was a night to take advantage of her favourite perk of teaching at Hogwarts: access to the library. Any time. Any day.

* * *

She had no issue with wandering around the corridors in her dressing gown. She did it so frequently, she dared someone to run into her and try to embarrass her. This was her Godric given right as a professor. So when she slipped into the library like she owned it, and lifted the chain that separated the regular books from the restricted ones, Hermione felt a thrill swell in her chest. 

She nearly skipped through the aisles, causing the candles to ignite from her movements as her eyes took in the various titles. She was wasting time; she knew it. The books she was searching for were in the back. 

She couldn’t decide if it was funny or depressing that the books with dark magic were more accessible than the erotic ones. Still, her fuzzy slippered footsteps slowed as she found the books titled ‘Adult’. Her gaze roamed over them. 

She hadn’t read _many_ of these types of books, but as Hermione grew older, she’d begun to appreciate the romanticism and chivalry that many characters conveyed. The attractive, masculine heroes and feisty, bold heroines finding a way to reconcile their differences also helped get her blood flowing. They were so very _Gryffindor_. Outside of the bedroom, that was. In the bedroom, Hermione couldn’t help but imagine their secretive and slippery sensuality would fit well in Slytherin. She decided not to dwell on that fact. 

_The Alchemist’s Dilemma_ sounded rather interesting. She did enjoy alchemy, and the light-haired hero painted on the spine of the book was quite appealing to Hermione’s eyes. 

She struggled on her tip-toes to reach the fourth shelf where the book sat. She tried to hop up, but only managed to push the book deeper into the shelf. 

Hermione let out a frustrated huff, taking a step back to procure her wand before a movement in her periphery caused her to stop. 

She shrieked when she spotted something small moving on the bottom shelf, bouncing toward her. Instinctively, her palm slammed hard against the moving item—perhaps a bug? She lifted her hand to discover that it was covered in a melted brown substance that smelled like peppermint and chocolate, before glancing down to see the mess she’d made. It was in the shape of a small toad.

“Goodness, woman, you could have eaten that.” 

She let out another shriek when she heard the words. She twisted sharply; her wand pointed in the direction of the sound. 

Blood drained from her face when she discovered a laughing Lucius Malfoy sitting plainly in a large leather seat at the end of the aisle. He was clad in a pale grey shirt, the top three or so buttons undone and sleeves folded to his elbows. His pants were dark but had a slight shine under the flickering candlelight. 

Hermione wondered if this was the casual-Lucius look: still dressed in perfectly work-appropriate clothing, but relatively undone with his hair thrown to the side and reading glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose. The soft lighting had muted his sharp features, and he appeared utterly approachable with his thick book, steaming mug of tea, and a half-eaten box of Peppermint Toads. 

“Bloody hell, were you there this whole time?” 

“Me? Was I sitting here with my book and chocolates—that a persistent professor purchased for me—watching you struggling to reach a book? Perhaps. Am I dying to know what said book from the ‘ _Adult_ ’ section was? Absolutely.” 

Hermione opened her mouth to protest as he quickly cast an Accio. Sounds came out, but words struggled to formulate. She tried to smack the book away as it lifted from the shelf and floated in Lucius’ direction, but she was too short to reach it. 

“Oh _my._ What is _this? ‘A forbidden love affair with a smouldering enemy’?_ ”

Lucius rose to his feet, the book held delicately in one hand while his other gently rubbed his chin as though in captivated thought. 

“It’s - it’s not -” 

“‘ _...must resist the temptation to give in to her_ earthly _desires...’”_

“I wasn’t—” 

He took slow, steady steps toward her, and Hermione found herself stepping awkwardly back in desperate need of escape.

“ _...can she overcome how charming he is?_ Gods, woman, you really read this stuff?”

Hermione opened her mouth, but words struggled to come out. Mortified was not a strong enough term for what she felt as she stared at Lucius’ amused face. The joy he seemed to derive from her embarrassment made her want to tap into that leonine anger she knew was in there somewhere, but all she could do was stand in a humiliating sort of shock.

“Oh dear, your face is as pink as a Horklump.” 

“A _horklump_ —”

There it was. 

The constant jabbing of his words prodded a shred of rage out of her. Her brows knit and her mouth shut, saving whatever dignity was left in her.

“I don’t appreciate that at all! Who are _you_ to make fun of me for my choice in literature? And what silly book are you reading, hmm?” 

She snatched the book he’d left in his seat. 

“ _1001 Magical Cures for Dark Hexes?_ Well—well, fine, then. Whatever. Give me my book! Have a _lovely_ night.” 

She turned to storm away, but before she could even take a step, she felt his hand grip at her elbow and prevent her from moving forward. She struggled against it for a moment before he reached for her book again and gently placed it on the shelf next to her.

“Wait,” he said. 

His tone was soft, all amusement and playfulness dissipated as he reached with his other hand to gently turn her shoulder toward him. 

She avoided his eyes, her nose and ears still burning with the sting of embarrassment. They seemed to warm even more when his hand rose to her face, and his palm cupped her cheek, gently guiding her face upward toward him. 

“I was only teasing,” he said softly. 

He patiently removed his reading glasses with his free hand before his fingertips drifted over her jaw and stopped at her chin where he gently pinched, the same way he had the evening of their kiss.

The act drove a sharp pang in the pit of her stomach.

“It’s quite endearing that you read books like this,” he said, the smile reappearing in his voice, “you’re less of a prude than I thought.” 

Her lips tensed in a small scowl at the words. “I’m not a prude.” 

“Mm, no. Perhaps not.” 

He lifted her chin to look at him. She took in his quiet concentration, the unending beauty that his sharp features culminated, and the warmth in his blue eyes that lingered on her lips as if requesting permission. 

Her embarrassment was erased by the fluttering of her heart as Lucius dipped his head forward following the lift of her chin which conveyed her silent approval. 

His lips were pure delight. Soft and delicate like silk running over her tender flesh. There was no rush as he stole a second kiss, and another still. She tasted mint and chocolate in his breath, sweet and cooling as it contrasted against his body’s natural warm, spiced scent. The heat radiating from his body warmed her, despite him maintaining a respectable distance from her as his hand cupped her jaw. 

His hand slipped into her hair as he withdrew from the kiss, his fingertips scratching at her scalp in soothing motions. His whole demeanour had softened. He was a different person entirely when he was like this: sweet, tender, and with an elegant poise as though he, too, knew it was ephemeral. His true self revealed, for her eyes only. 

Hermione decided she accepted being the keeper of his secrets. She leaned into his touch and grazed her lips against the inside of his wrist where she planted a soft kiss. 

“You weren’t at dinner,” Hermione said, her voice matching the tenderness that enveloped them.

Lucius nodded with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

“Yes, well. Christmas is...” 

“Complicated,” Hermione finished, knowing the feeling all too well. She fought the urge to sigh as his message brought about a wellspring of emotions. “I wanted to thank you, Lucius. Your gift was so thoughtful. I can’t explain how happy it made me.” 

His eyes lit up at her words. 

“Did it? I’d love to see it on you.” 

A blush crept into Hermione’s cheeks at the idea of it. She hadn’t considered a man wanting to see her in anything, let alone a man with established tastes like Lucius Malfoy. Yet the way he spoke and the thought of his eyes drawing over her body with captivated attention, wearing what _he’d_ got for her, made her body respond with a flight of tingles. 

Would he watch her dress? 

Lucius ran his thumb over the curve of her heated cheek. His brow arched as if he was privy to her thoughts. It did nothing to help the warming of her face.

“And what are your plans for this evening, my dear?” 

“I was going to read for a bit.” Her voice was airy like a soft sigh was escaping in the form of words as Lucius drew her long curls behind her shoulders and dipped to press a gentle kiss on her neck. 

“Mm, yes, and then?” 

His breath coated her skin as his words slipped out between small, sweet kisses. The sensation immediately caused shivers to trickle down her spine and heat to sink into the depths of her stomach.

“And then sleep...” 

“Hmmm.” She could feel the vibration of his hum against her earlobe as he playfully nipped. He drew back, his eyes narrowed in deep suspicion. “Read, then sleep? I fear there’s a step between those two that you’re conveniently not sharing with me.” 

She gasped at the implication and smacked her palm against his shoulder. The man had gall!

“ _Lucius!_ ” 

“What? I thought you said you aren’t a prude.” 

The Malfoy smirk was in full-effect as Lucius ran his thumb over the curve of her reddened ear, his other hand drifting down her arm to slip around her waist. 

She was not a prude, but she had no intention of confirming his suspicions. 

“Well, I appreciate you choosing to spend your time with me instead; I’ll try my hardest to make up for your lost _alone time_.” 

He dotted kisses over her hot cheek. With a gentle thrust of his fingers under her chin, he tilted her head to the side and let his mouth wander back to the long lines of her neck. This time, however, the kisses had lost their innocence. The sensation of his breath and sharp stubble caused Hermione to throw her head back and let out a low contented sigh as goose pimples prickled her skin. 

He took the opportunity to step into her, his hips pressing into hers and driving her lower back and bottom to shove against the library cabinet. The hard wood pressed against her body, trapped against his firm form. 

“You should read me a passage or two from your little book,” he said into her skin as he dragged searing kisses on her neck. It was distracting, each scrape of his five o’clock shadow causing shivers to trickle down her spine. It took her a minute to even comprehend what he’d just said, her eyes flying open as the words sunk in. His fingers drifted over her ribs and gripped at her waist as her muscles tensed. 

“What— _no_ _!_ Absolutely not!” 

Lucius lifted his head to hover over hers. His silken white-blond hair created a curtain around them and enveloped her vision; all she could see were his searing blue eyes and his lips. Those lips sought her, as his hips dug into her. She would have gasped from the feeling of his erection hard against her— had her lips not been captured so willingly by his own. 

He kissed her in the way that she’d been dreaming about. She knew that passion; she’d tasted it that sinful night in the classroom. Though the animosity and anger had long faded, the desire lived with a thriving new spark that caused Hermione’s thighs to squeeze together. 

She wondered if he felt her body’s response as he gripped her jaw and lifted her head, allowing his tongue effortless entry into her mouth. He swallowed her moans as his palm drifted up her body. He slipped his hand into the collar of her dressing gown and squeezed her breast—clothed only in the thin nightgown that she wore underneath. 

“Read for me, my darling,” he growled against her lips, “I want to hear your lovely voice fill my head with filth.” 

Lucius’ words rang in her head. _His darling._

He pressed another bruising kiss to her lips before reaching for the book he’d discarded on the shelf. With one hand and heavy breaths, he flipped through the pages of the book, his eyes clearly roaming for an exciting excerpt to torture her with. His other hand wandered over her body, his palm drifting from one breast to the other as he pressed the pad of his thumb against her hardening nipple and drew tight little circles that elicited alluring moans from her lips. 

Her eyes drifted over his distracted features and down his body. She admired the silver-blond hair that peeked from under the unbuttoned top of his shirt. She’d seen the lines of his torso glistening in the sunlight during his morning jogs. She’d sinfully envisioned herself tracing them with her tongue, drawing her fingertips over the dense, lean muscle of his abdomen and letting her fingers and lips trail down the line of light hair that led to his cock. 

“You’ll read for me, won’t you?” he said, his voice unnaturally innocent. 

Hermione’s eyes snapped up, sinful thoughts disrupted by his equally sinful gaze. She could see the amusement in his face when she glanced up—caught in the act of admiring his physique. She took the book he handed to her, suddenly grateful to have something to cover her humiliated face with. 

“Oh, come on, Lucius. This is—so awful!” Hermione’s eyes skimmed the passage, helplessly shaking her head.

“You chose the book, dear. Please, go ahead.” 

She let out an impatient sigh, unsure why he even wanted her to share this part of herself with him. It was all frivolous feminine rubbish—titillation for quiet nights alone. She’d never expected him to discover this genuinely guilty pleasure of hers.

“Lucius—”

“Please.”

Hermione sighed and buried her face in the book.

“ _The Count was a delightful lover. Though he’d known no hardship and had little opportunity to cultivate passion of his own, his lips burned mine with the heat of a thousand suns._ ” 

“Oh that is quite hot,” Lucius said, his voice laced with mocking amusement. He gripped the ties of her dressing gown before dramatically yanking them loose.

“ _His kisses, with tongue and teeth, would venture o'er every peak and_ —” 

“Dear _God._ ” 

Hermione’s head whipped out of the book to see Lucius staring down in sheer shock.

“What? What is it?” 

Her eyes followed the trail of his gaze.

“Granger, what is— _this_?” 

He pinched the fabric of her nightgown.

“My pyjamas, what of it?” 

The nightdress was made of a very enjoyable tee-shirt-like fabric and fell at just about her knees. Yes, the print was rather absurd: a repeated pattern of three-inch-tall owls with different coloured ties and varying style hats. She found it quite sweet. 

“I worry I’ve chastised you for your choices enough today,” Lucius said, making obvious attempts at hiding his distaste at her evening-wear, and clearly failing. “Perhaps I should keep my opinions to myself...” 

She arched a brow.

“No, go on. Go ahead and share your _very important_ opinions.” 

Lucius did not take her bait. Instead, he pressed a quieting kiss to her lips before urging the book back to her face. 

“Please.”

Hermione dropped her gaze to the book, her lips pursed in disapproval. Still, she read.

“ _Would venture o'er every peak and valley_ —” 

The sharpness in her tone was evident as she voiced the written words, yet it faded and quivered when he withdrew her dressing gown from her shoulders and threw it onto his chair. 

“— _warming my skin like a summer’s afternoon.”_

Quiet moans passed her lips as Lucius affectionately doted on her breasts. He tugged on her nightgown until it pressed taut against her skin and encouraged the stretching fabric’s transparency as her hard nipples jutted out like little peaks under the cartoon owls. 

“ _His fingers marched through many-a-winding valleys of my flesh._ ” 

Lucius’ palm dragged down the curve of her ribs, over her soft abdomen, and toward the hem of her nightgown where he gently lifted; his fingers slipped with ease under her cotton knickers. 

Hermione gasped, ready to lower her book, but Lucius held his free hand against the spine of the text.

“My flesh,” he encouraged, his palm squeezing the soft bare skin of her pelvis. 

It was hairless, as Hermione preferred it. She had little tolerance for hair in general, yet to her surprise seeing the glistening blond on Lucius’ body made her want to bury her face in his hair. 

“Granger...” 

“ _Valleys of my flesh... Scouts in search of treasure ventured far and wide, tarrying in deep caves and_ —oh my God, Lucius!” 

Her knees bent forward as a finger slipped between her slick folds and drove deep inside of her. She let out a startled cry, which quickly morphed into sighs of pleasure as his palm pressed against her bundle of nerves that throbbed with his touch. His lips dotted kisses on her shoulder, peeking at her euphoric features as her eyes squeezed shut and lips parted to allow deep breaths to pass. 

“Go—” he planted a kiss “—on...” 

_“Plunging_ — _plunging in dark_ —ohhh—” Lucius slipped in another finger. “—mmph, _crevices of my earth.”_

“That’s it, my sweet. Keep going.” 

“ _His tongue.._.” she sighed, pleasure rolling off her own tongue as her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. 

“Yes, what of his tongue?” Lucius leaned back, moving his lips from her skin for a moment, though his hand continued to plunge in her own depths, causing her knees to buck and her hand to press against the cabinet to ground her suddenly unsteady gait. 

“ _His tongue painted my skin like a shimmering stream_ —” 

Hermione gasped aloud, her fingers curling against the cabinet as Lucius’ hooked into her knickers and dragged them down her thighs until they fell to the floor. 

“Lucius, you can’t be serio— oh bloody hell, _Lucius!_ ” 

His name came out in a squeak as she felt his hot breath drift up her right thigh. It lingered there for a moment before he planted a soft kiss, as if completely unaware of her squirming and squealing up above. 

Hermione buried her face in the book. It was a welcome opportunity to not dwell on the fact that a very naughty man had shoved his face between her legs and was completely invisible under her owl-covered nightgown. Still, she fought the urge to toss the book aside and dig her nails into his shoulders. 

She felt herself clench from the inside as she heard his voice.

“Keep…” he pressed a kiss to her other thigh, “...reading.” 

As he said the final word, Hermione’s muscles stiffened and she threw her head back with a loud groan as Lucius’ tongue swiped between her lips and pressed against the throbbing button that made her whole body quiver.

“I can’t!” 

She felt his lips pull away at once, a sudden tsk heard in its place. 

“Fine! _Tongue…_ umm… _stream_ —yes, _shimmering_ , fuck! _Shimmering stream,_ yes there. There. Oh my God, Lucius, mmmm…” 

Her eyes fought to stay open despite every part of her yearning to throw her head back and let the moans roll off her tongue instead of words. But as he drew his touch away, even for a moment, Hermione buried her face in the tome and began reciting without further provocation.

“ _Stream that ran its glistening waters to my ocean. The man, my lover, was naught_ —mmph— _naught a stranger to nature, as he harv_ — _harvested my gardens._ Fuck! Don’t—stop—” 

His fingers moved in fluid movements that coincided with his mouth. She didn’t know if he was making the noises on purpose, but he would suck and release her clit before nipping hungrily at her wet lips with audible sucks and pleased soft moans. The sounds filled the library and her head, inspiring her with the image of his face tucked eagerly between her legs, drinking his fill of her. 

“ _And_ — _and plucked_ —mmm please, please I _can’t_ — _plucked my petals til_ — _til morning_ — _til morning came!_ Oh God, I’m going to come—” 

The book fell to the floor a loud thud. Not loud enough, however, to mask her cries. 

The starved growl between her thighs hummed against her clit and caused her hips to slam hard against the cabinet as ribbons of pleasure cascaded throughout her and caused her whole body to quiver helplessly in climax. Despite her movements, he held her against him, his lips still working her until her muscles trembled with soft aftershocks and she’d cried out his name at least half a dozen times. 

He lifted the nightgown from over his head and she could hardly see his exaggerated frown through her haze of orgasm. 

“Madame Pince would have you caned for the amount of noise you’re making in this library,” he chided. “Or, since she’s not here, perhaps I should…” 

Hermione released a shaky breath, her forehead creasing as she slowly regained the ability to comprehend words again. 

“Caned…? What an antiquated concept—oh,” she clenched around his fingers as they gently slipped out of her. 

He rose to his feet, his glistening fingers lifted to his lips as he sucked them clean. He managed to make even _that_ look elegant. He gracefully ran the pad of his thumb over his glistening chin before bringing that to his lips as well. Hermione could have watched the man preen and primp himself all day, especially when it followed a disorienting resolution as the one she’d just experienced by his wicked tongue. 

The look he gave her indicated his knowledge of her ogling. He seemed to have a knack for catching her in the act, and with the same two fingers he had inserted in her, Lucius summoned her toward him. It was just a step, but even that took some care as Hermione put one foot before the other and slipped into his arms. His hands made a small trail down her spine, following the curve of her bottom where they cupped each of her cheeks before his lips sought her own.

She could taste herself on him. She loved the intermingling of their scents, the flavour of his tongue and her pleasure. It was an intoxicating blend. 

“Have you ever felt the bite of a cane on your bottom, Miss Granger?” he rasped against her lips before giving her backside a squeeze. 

“No… have you?” 

His Adam’s Apple jumped with a low, mischievous chuckle. 

“Would you like to?” he said, the smile still on his lips as he effortlessly evaded her cheeky response. 

One hand rose from her bottom, slipping easily under her nightgown where it drifted up the curving line of her torso. He took his time running a serpentine line over the soft feminine flesh of her stomach, up her ribcage, and cupped her breast as his thumb trapped her nipple under his gentle caress. 

He seemed unbothered by her lack of answer, accepting her enticing whimpers as recompense. 

“I’ve been fantasizing about punishing your little bottom since that night you charged at me so ferociously. You deserved _so much_ to be put in your place.”

“Hardly! You had me bound to a chair if you recall.” 

She sucked in a sharp breath as he gave her nipple a squeeze, hard enough to remind her he was there and soft enough to inform her that he was just beginning. 

The memory alone was enough to elicit both arousal and a faint recollection of anger. Even the anger of that night was muddled by her current sense of carnal fixation with the man.

“You deserved so much more,” he breathed into her lips, where he pressed a small kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You had every opportunity to pull away from my touch, sweet girl, and yet you stayed there. Why?” 

His fingers tightened their grip of her nipple, causing her to cry out. Her shoulders instinctively drew back, withdrawing from his sudden tormenting touch. It made it all the easier for Lucius to squeeze her bottom with his other hand, pulling her forward until their hips collided and she felt _everything_. 

“You leaned into my kiss. You wanted me, didn’t you? You hated me and still, your body wanted me. Naughty girl. You deserve to be punished, don’t you?” 

His hips ground against hers, his rigid erection digging between her legs where his lips just were. Her vision glazed over as a heady rush of arousal flooded through her body. It coursed through her veins, pumping with each rapid flutter of her heart. There was nothing she wanted more in the world at that moment than him—inside her. 

“Yes, Lucius.” The words passed her lips like a sigh. 

For a moment, she felt all control leave him as he sought her lips with his own in a searing kiss. It was as if her admission of wanting him had granted something in him and he poured his desire into her lips. His mouth drifted over her jaw and landed starved kisses over her chest. With one hand he lifted her nightgown up, pulling back only to admire the growing measures of flesh with each gentle tug. 

“Hold this up. Yes, that’s it.”

The nightgown suddenly felt ridiculous as he lifted it to her hips, revealing her bare cunt and not much else. He hardly seemed to see it as his gaze lingered on the delightful curve of her ivory skin and peak of pink between her legs. 

He reached forward, his eyes enticed by the sight of her as he pressed his palm against the velvet-soft mound. She didn’t know why a sudden surge of heat ran through her as he just held her there before pressing a soft kiss to her cheek as if the act itself was almost innocent. 

“Turn around,” he murmured against her cheek before taking a step back. 

She squirmed from discomfort as she faced away, her fingers stiffly gripping her nightgown and holding it in place around her hips. This was by far the most embarrassing thing she’d done perhaps all year. A hundred questions flooded through her mind. 

Why did she agree to this? What kind of a man gets off on caning their partner? How badly will this hurt? Oh Gods, what if it hurts her so much that she cries immediately?

Why was she so aroused by the idea of it? 

He said he’d fantasized about it. That thought alone made her push her hips out a bit, and she heard his soft chuckle as he disappeared from her view entirely. 

“Lucius?” 

Suddenly, she regretted the whole thing. She didn’t want to be caned.

“Spread your legs, love. Wider now. Yes, that’s it. Are you ready?” 

_God, just like that?_

“I’m not—I don’t— _oh!_ ” 

It wasn’t the sharp bite of the cane that caused her to cry out, but the sudden intense vibration between her legs that forced her muscles to twitch and breath to hitch in her chest.

It was cold, hard, and so intense it forced her hips back and knees to bend as she chased the relentless buzz.

Fingers slipped into her hair and she felt his hot breath against her shoulder.

“You _aren’t_ a prude, are you?” 

Hermione’s muscles tensed when she felt it—the sensation of skin, bare skin, against her legs. He tugged the nightgown from her hands and lifted it over her head.

“You’d allow me to cane your bottom, just like that?” 

He reached down to take her wrist and guide it between her legs. She felt the vibrating culprit and glanced down to find the shimmering silver serpent head of Lucius’ cane held snug against her. She gripped it, letting her hips press out even more as she manoeuvred it right above the hood of her clitoris. 

“You were ready to scream for me?” 

Lucius leaned forward. His bare chest pressed against her naked back and Hermione let out a low moan as she felt his hardness, equally bare, slip between her soaked lips. 

“I had no idea what a deviant girl you are,” he chuckled and pushed down on the arch of her back, forcing her hips into him further. 

Her legs were open and inviting as he gripped his cock and dragged it over her drenched lips. 

“Though I should have, with the filth you read…” 

“Please, Lucius,” Hermione groaned, the vibration of the serpent head and the pressure of his hard taunting cock drove her beyond mad with hunger, “just shut up and fuck me.” 

He thrust forward, his cock effortlessly slipping into her soaked, ready cunt. Her free hand flew blindly to grip a solid surface, causing several books to fly from the shelf until she found a rather massive tome that held her in place as Lucius drew back and thrust forward again. 

“Fuck—fuck, oh please!”

The expletives and pleas rolled off her tongue as Lucius filled her. 

Her whole body was ignited, wrapped snugly around his thrusting cock. The feeling of fullness was enough to make Hermione clench around him, but the groans that followed as she squeezed was a bone-tingling bonus. His fingers roamed eagerly, seeking her breasts where they gripped and possessively held her. 

She lifted her foot, perching it precariously on the handle on one of the cabinets. She nearly screamed when his fingers gripped her arse cheeks, and he angled his hips to strike a spot that drove a deep-rooted shudder throughout her body and made her see white. He drove into her, chasing each helpless pant and whimper. 

Hermione’s skin was alight, her whole body ached for his fulfilment. She imagined what his face looked like dripping with desire for her. What his mouth looked like as he moaned for her. 

It was as if he felt her sudden detachment as she turned her head. He pressed lulling kisses to her shoulder and into her hair as he caressed her breast with a sudden gentleness that made her want to melt around him. But her aching fingers released the heavy tome and she twisted toward him. Lucius drew back, his hands falling from her breasts to press soft circles at her hips as he watched her turn toward him with equal parts concern and curiosity.

They stood still for a moment, facing one another as their eyes wandered. 

Gods he was so bloody beautiful it was nearly infuriating. His hair was wild and flung to the side. His shoulders curved with perfect circles, heaving with heavy breaths over his torso which glistened in a slick layer of sweat. His sinewy abdomen narrowed in lines that led her wandering eyes straight to the rigid cock that pointed straight toward her, ready for her whenever she’d gotten her fill of his beauty. 

Lucius appeared in no rush as his eyes appraised the feminine curve of her hips and the way her breasts bounced with each ragged breath. He seemed especially fascinated with her nipples as he let his thumb gently stroke the sensitive flesh. He watched as she let out a pleased sigh.

“Lucius,” she whispered, reaching for him.

It was the invitation he needed as he closed the space between them. He landed a warm kiss on her lips and guided them both down to lay on the various items of clothing that now decorated the wooden floor of the library.

“I want you, Lucius,” she whispered.

Something flickered in his eyes; tension formed in his lips. She recognized the vulnerability and lingering pain. The fear that he’d given his heart to her, at risk of being squeezed carelessly in her hands. She wouldn’t do that to him. If only she could tell him, she felt the same way. 

“I want you,” she repeated, her words washing a fraction of the tension away. 

She pressed kiss after loving kiss to his lips. With each embrace, Hermione fed him her desire, shared her openness and need for him in every little gesture. She invited his touch, encouraged his roaming stare, and hosted his heart with care. She felt him watching as her fingers delicately traced his brow, down his nose, over his lips with warm admiration. 

Hermione reciprocated the small smile that began forming in his lips; she leaned into his touch when he began pressing kisses over her cheekbones and on her temple. 

Her heart stilled when the quiet whisper passed his lips:

“Hermione...” 

Her eyes flew open and she felt herself melt under his stare. Her lips sought his in a quiet desperation that made her insides ache with need. It wasn’t a physical need, like she’d felt prior. This rooted deep in her chest and swept through her veins, morphing from a budding admiration to a blooming hunger. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she lifted her legs, wrapping them around his hips in open invitation. 

In the midst of the kiss, Lucius guided himself against her entrance and slowly slid in. He swallowed the need-filled cry in the kiss and responded with a groan of his own. 

He held himself there, granting them a moment of unity that ignited sparks in Hermione. She dug her heels into his arse and her hips lifted, sealing their skin as hip met hip. 

Lucius drew back and slammed himself into her, causing her to cry out, freely now, as his lips roamed to her neck and shoulder, biting and nipping and sucking on her flesh as he growled with newfound hunger. With each thrust of his hips, Hermione felt her skin searing against his. 

His hunger for her was palpable as she felt his rigid control behind each thrust. He was fighting so hard to maintain a languid pace, but with each thrust in, Hermione lifted her hips and urged more, squeezing her heels into him and grinding helplessly until he picked up the pace and his skin slapped against hers with bursts of burning bliss.

He felt massive against her. His broad shoulders were expansive as her palms traced the lines of his shoulder blades and the lean curve of his muscular back. They dug in with each groan-inducing thrust, causing her whole body to quiver under him as his pelvis pressed against her clit and his fingers found her breasts, massaging and squeezing her nipples.

He gripped behind her knee and leveraged himself against her, finding a depth that caused her back to arch and breath to hitch. 

“Lucius—” she choked. 

“That’s it,” he groaned into her lips, his hips pumping, filling her with increasing tension. “That’s it, darling, come for me.” 

Her eyes rolled backwards and lips parted to allow the sounds of euphoria to flow freely out of her until his tongue plunged into her mouth to taste each muffled cry of ecstasy. 

She squeezed the muscles of his back and her body tensed like a tightened coil until wave after wave of fire soared through her. Her insides clenched around him, coaxing his own orgasm that spilt into her. With his final hard thrusts, Lucius groaned into her mouth, his hot breath spilling over her face with each heaving pant and pleasure-filled moan. Their sighs filled the still air of the library until—

“Students out of bed? Oh, what in Merlin’s name! S-sorry!” 

The lovers froze, brown eyes finding blue in a state of shock before Lucius flung up, utterly nude, and half-dazed from the orgasm that still pulsed in his muscles.

Hermione watched with wide eyes as the caretaker, Argus Filch, stood blanched with terror at having discovered the lovers _in flagrante delicto_. He seemed especially scared as Lucius stalked toward him. 

The caretaker stumbled backwards, tripping over one of the several books Hermione had dropped. Had she not been experiencing sheer mortification, Hermione would have admired the way Lucius managed to temper his tone to a calm amusement, persuading Filch to nod and nervously laugh along with him. 

She had no idea how Lucius had managed to grip both his wand and slip on his pants within the split second while Hermione still struggled to grab an article of clothing to cover her bare body with. 

She gasped, startled, as the flash of a Confundus charm landed on the caretaker and Lucius calmly scrambled Filch’s recent memories. A moment or two later, as Filch scuffled away and she heard the doors of the library fall with a quiet thud, Lucius turned to face her.

They both stared at each other, Hermione’s knuckles white as she gripped his shirt against her bare breasts. His features morphed almost in slow motion as his eyes sparkled with amusement and lips slowly twisted upward until they both burst out into a sudden fit of laughter. They giggled like silly children who’d just gotten away with whatever mayhem they’d plotted. 

Without another word, Lucius slipped on top of her, discarding his shirt before he covered her chest with kisses between each amused chuckle. 

The sound of their laughter and eventually pleasing sighs filled the still library until morning came. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a kudos/comment if you enjoyed this chapter!


	8. Rest A While, You Cruel Cares

_Rest A While, You Cruel Cares_

  
Hermione Granger felt ridiculous. It wasn’t enough that these silly undergarments were like vices for her body parts, but the way her reflection stared back at her in the mirror felt ridiculous. 

Yes, it was elegant—beautiful, even—but so _sexual_. It was almost obscene. 

She let her eyes roam over her chest, her nipples as visible as the morning sun under a thin layer of black transparent fabric that hugged her breasts together and forced cleavage where there usually was none. Yes, she looked beautiful, she even felt it, but Gods, Lucius was a fancy fucking pervert, wasn’t he? 

Just one day after their midnight _encounter_ in the library, the man sent over two boxes full of several nightgowns, negligees, robes, and undergarments to boot. In his note, he’d made a cheeky comment about expecting her to throw out all of her pyjamas that had cartoon-anything on them (of course, she didn’t) and that she’d look quite stunning in any of these delicate little numbers. 

She’d thrown the box to the side of her room and forgotten about them, forcing him to endure her regular cotton knickers and t-shirt bra anytime he had the pleasure of venturing under her top layer of clothing. Even on Valentine’s Day, Hermione had opted to wear nothing in lieu of attempting to don the tight, intimidating undergarments. To her surprise, Lucius said nothing, happy enough to enjoy her in the quiet of the night; besides, clothes hardly stayed on her body long enough to endure a lingering stare. But tonight was different. 

She didn’t know why, exactly, but it _felt_ different. 

Just the idea that Lucius would be here, in her quarters, in her _bedroom,_ made her nervous. They’d been sneaking around Hogwarts castle nearly every night since their first night together. At first, the sneaking part was thrilling; she felt like a student again, trying not to get caught. In addition to the library, and the empty alcoves of the Third Floor corridor, oh, and the second instalment of Duelling club. 

She cleared her throat, trying hard not to envision it further lest she soak through the severely thin fabric of her transparent knickers. Still, the memory flashed in her mind: the aching aggression of them bruised and beaten from the duel, the dark lust in Lucius’ eyes when—as soon as the last student shuffled out of the room—he pounced on her, tore off her clothes and took carnal revenge on whatever cruel jinx or hex she’d cast on him. Their sweaty bodies writhed against the wooden platform of the room and caused her to see stars. Fuck, her knickers were undoubtedly soaked as she let out a heavy breath.

Hermione initially preferred to keep their salacious secret to themselves. She didn’t know whether it was forbidden for two professors to connect like that, but she didn’t exactly need Minerva thinking about the fact that she, after sending a dozen or so letters demanding Lucius’ sacking, was now actually shagging him. Oof, she’d never live that down. Let alone if Harry or Ron heard… Not that it was any of their business at all! 

Still, it had started to feel a bit silly that two mature adults were unable to lie in bed together. 

Tonight, they’d fix that. Hermione waited, standing prettily or whatever girls do in anticipation of their lovers, while Lucius bribed the Bloody Baron to terrify Peeves into causing a commotion, and— 

_Knock, knock, knock._ There he was, just on time. 

The sound still jolted her. She saw herself in the reflection, in the tight little transparent corset, cheeky knickers, and _nothing_ else. Hermione reached for a dressing gown and swallowed her embarrassment. Gods, even the dressing gowns he’d sent her were hardly anything at all! Satin, opaque, but still snug against her curves and way too short to cover half her bottom if she chose to so much as walk a little fast. Hermione tied the belt around her waist and strode toward the door. 

Lucius’ eyes widened, and his jaw dropped a bit upon seeing her in her chosen attire. He looked quite delicious himself, with his shirt unbuttoned obscenely low and showing the sprinkling of silver and the deep line between his pecs. He cradled a bottle of scotch in his hands and rose from where he leaned against the doorframe. 

“Well, _hello._ ” Lucius smirked, his eyes roaming. 

Hermione shuffled awkwardly as she wrapped her arms around her torso and ushered him into the room. It didn’t take much beckoning at all as, in a swift movement, he had her in his arms and was pressing warm kisses to her neck. 

“You got all dressed up for me?” He breathed into her skin. 

“No, this is how I lounge around in my bedroom.” Hermione rolled her eyes. 

Lucius pulled away with a brow quirked.

“I know you’re lying to me, but please, let me believe this.”

“I also sleep exclusively in the nude.” Hermione’s lips tugged into a smile as she tried to bite back a laugh. 

Lucius rolled his eyes as he pulled away from her, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He strode toward the coffee table and began to pour them glasses of scotch, neat.

“ _That_ I know is a lie. I’ve seen your evening attire, love.” 

“Oh, shoot,” Hermione snapped her fingers in mock disappointment. 

Lucius’ smirk didn’t fade as he handed her her drink in a teacup.

“Is this usually your glassware of choice?” Hermione asked, tilting her head as she rose a brow. 

“No,” he murmured before taking a sip from his teacup. “But I’ve seen you standing here in front of this window with your teacup so many times, I just had to have a recreation of my own.”

Hermione nearly snorted into her cup at his words, her face burning with embarrassment. She took a long pull, waiting for the heat from her face to subside. 

“Come,” Lucius said. 

His hand slipped against her waist, and he gently walked her over to the window. He hovered behind her, his torso against her back as he rested his chin on her shoulder. Hermione leaned into him, her back and bottom matching his pressure and adding a bit more, for good measure.

“Tell me,” he whispered into her neck as he placed his teacup on the side table and reached to draw her hair back, allowing his breath and eventually his lips free reign on her soft flesh. “When exactly did sweet Professor Granger think it appropriate to stand here—” his hips pressed forward, pushing her even closer to the window. “—and ogle her most hated colleague during his morning jogs?”

“You were practically naked!” 

Lucius’ hands squeezed at her waist. His gaze grew dark, and a smirk tugged on his lips when his fingers brushed against the bones of the corset under her thin dressing gown.

“I didn’t think it would work, really,” he chuckled, dotting hot kisses to her neck that caused shivers to cascade through her. He tugged on one end of the belt which loosened and fell away with ease. 

“ _Work_ ?” Hermione gasped. “Oh my goodness, you bastard! You did it on _purpose_ —for me to see?” 

Without another word, he pulled the top of her dressing gown open, revealing her chest—practically bare, save for the paper-thin translucent fabric that did nothing to hide her already hardened nipple from his gaze. 

“Yes, of course. Who else would I do it for, Hagrid?” 

“You’re so— _oh._ ” 

Whatever words of admonishment and disapproval Hermione was about to sling at him caught in her throat as Lucius’ other hand slipped under the slit of her robe and found its way into her knickers. 

“You’re so...” 

Hermione’s hips bucked against his groin as he found her clit without the need to wander or explore. He knew just where he needed to press to get her to unravel into a mess of arousal at his touch. 

“So...” 

Hermione sighed as Lucius ran his other hand over her nipples, watching them respond to his touch. 

“What am I, Miss Granger?” 

He pressed a searing kiss to the juncture of her neck and Hermione couldn’t help but throw her head back and lean into the drugging euphoria that he was eliciting. She hardly registered it when her hands released the teacup, and it fell to the ground with a clattering splash. 

“Tsk,” Lucius murmured as his hands withdrew from her. “I’d ask you to clean that up on all fours, but we have some other pressing business to attend, don’t we?” 

Hermione could see Lucius’ amused smile as she tried to clear the fog in her mind. But his gaze, which lingered from her face down, as he gently tugged the robe off of her shoulders and tossed it to the side, made jolts of pleasure settle in the pit of her stomach. She could feel the heat of his eyes on her attire and body, and felt a similar heat trail between her legs as Lucius slipped his hand into hers and silently led them to her bedroom.

She’d have to worry about the shattered teacup in the morning.

Lucius’ idea of going to Hogsmeade during their free period, when all the students were busy in class, was so brilliant, Hermione could have kissed his mind. It was also a delightful reprieve from being indoors all day, when spring had started to sprout, one vibrant flower at a time until their entire walk to Hogsmeade village was adorned with wildflowers, radiant sunlight, and warm, May air. 

She’d wanted nothing more than a semblance of a normal relationship with him. The sneaking around; the hyper-sexuality; the forbidden nature had been all well and good to get her blood flowing to parts of her body that, for so long, she’d refused to share with anyone other than herself. But this—to stroll hand-in-hand in public like actual lovebirds—it felt so much more _real._

Of course, there were still quiet alleys where Lucius would tug her into, and they’d snog like teenagers. _That_ aspect of their relationship wasn’t going anywhere. 

But it felt so nice to browse shops and learn about what quill Lucius preferred using and why. He’d purchase the books she’d mentioned in passing and slip them into her bag when she wasn’t looking. 

“We should get a room at the Three broomsticks,” Lucius growled into Hermione’s mouth as his hand slid halfway up her navel. Hermione let her head fall back, giving Lucius free reign as they were tucked away in a quiet alley near Honeydukes. 

“But—” 

The Three Broomsticks was the only store they’d actively avoided. Rosmerta, the village gossip, would have informed Minerva of their little affair immediately upon seeing it. And, while Hermione was starting to grow warmer to the idea of just coming out with it, she’d prefer it to be on her terms.

“Or should we sneak into a fitting room in Gladrags and I can fuck you against the wall.” Lucius’ thumb drifted tauntingly over Hermione’s nipple as his lips hovered over hers. “I can’t get enough of you, sweet girl.” 

“Come on, Astoria, she doesn’t need two sodding pounds of chocolate!” 

The pair froze at the sound of those words, that voice. Lucius turned toward the sound at the end of the alley.

“Draco,” Lucius breathed. His eyes grew wide, and Hermione could see his Adam’s apple jump as he swallowed. 

Hermione pushed herself off the wall and forced Lucius off of her. 

“Daddy—choc-choc!” 

Hermione felt a knot form in her throat at the sound, and at the way Lucius’ eyes widened. She could practically feel the feelings pour over him as a pained expression formed on his face. His eyes flickered to hers, searching. 

“What are you waiting for?” Hermione chuckled. “Go!”

Lucius broke out into a bright smile as he pulled away in full and raked a trembling hand through his hair. 

“You look perfect, Lucius,” Hermione assured before Lucius gave a nervous nod and sprung toward the end of the alleyway. 

She didn’t know why, but Hermione felt nervous for him. She quietly strode forward and peeked her head out toward the street where she spotted them: the Malfoys. Well, Draco, Astoria, and their littlest one, a two-year-old daughter, as Hermione recalled from her night overhearing Lucius talking to Draco.

“Draco!” Lucius’ voice called out. 

Hermione could hear the quiver in it. Draco turned around slowly, a brow quirked at having heard his name. 

“ _Father?_ ” Draco’s eyes widened, and his arms rose to fold over his chest. 

“What are you doing here, son?” Lucius asked, his tone betraying his curiosity, but his eyes pointed straight toward Draco’s legs. 

Hermione couldn’t help but beam at the sight of the little girl who shyly hugged her father’s legs. Her mouth was covered in brown chocolate. She looked like a little doll with her bright silver-blonde hair, just like Lucius’, tied in high pigtails. She stared at Lucius. 

“Astoria insisted on Honeydukes, though if I knew the trouble she’d cause—”

“Draco!” The tone was sharp, shrill even as it bounced through the cobble-stoned streets. 

Draco turned his head toward the sound and waved his hand dismissively as Astoria came stomping toward them. 

“She’s not going to like this,” Draco grumbled and reached to press a hand on his daughter’s head. The girl who was previously entranced by the sight of Lucius glanced up to her father, her little mouth hanging open as if she was watching an entertaining spectacle.

“May I meet her?” Lucius asked, his words soft and hopeful.

“No, you may not,” Astoria snapped as she swept up the child into her arms and rocked her like she was a newborn. 

“Come on, Tori,” Draco said. “It’s fine, he’s not going to eat her. He’s her sodding grandfather, after all.”

Astoria looked at Draco like he’d grown a second head; her hand swiftly rose to cover the little girl’s ear. 

“Language!” She hissed. 

Draco’s eyes narrowed, and he clenched his jaw.

“Fine.” Astoria glared at her husband as she passed the toddler to him. “Let him corrupt our only child.”

Hermione cheered silently from her sleuth-spot. 

“I’m telling your mother!” Astoria said in a threatening hiss as she turned on her heel and strode toward Gladrags.

Draco rolled his eyes before he placed the child on the floor. 

“She tells mother literally everything, so what’s the point, anyway?” Draco said with a sigh before he patted the girl on her head. “Go on, Lucine. Say hello to your grandfather.”

Lucius knelt on the cobblestone floor and reached his arms out. 

“Hello, there.” 

He was positively beaming. Hermione could practically feel his radiant happiness. The child peered at Lucius, tilting her head with curiosity as she took a step forward. It was as though she could sense their blood relation, could see in his features and hair that she was a part of him—his kin. 

Hermione swallowed the knot that formed in her throat as Lucine hobbled forward with her little feet and stepped into Lucius’ arms. He swept her in a hug and lifted her into the air. He squeezed her and enveloped the child with love. 

Heat rose and suffused into Hermione’s cheeks before it settled in her eyes as her vision started to blur. 

“You like chocolate?” Lucius asked, his voice playful and bouncy. 

The little girl nodded, grinned as though she shouldn’t love chocolate quite as much as she does, and shyly buried her face into Lucius’ shoulder. 

“I will get you all the chocolate in the world, sweet one. Have you had Peppermint Toads?” 

“She can’t have Peppermint Toads, she’ll choke on them.”

“But when you were her age—” Lucius shook his head. “Nevermind, sorry—” 

“Todd! I want todd,” Lucine squeaked. 

“Er, oh! Have you ever seen a real toad, precious girl? When Draco was a little boy, he had three toads of his own. Perhaps—”

“We’ve got to go, father,” Draco cut in. 

“But—what? I’ve just met her. Couldn’t you stay for a little while longer?” 

“Astoria’s going to scream my ear off as soon as we get home. And mother won’t be pleased—”

“Your mother can mind her own sodding business,” Lucius snapped. 

“Yes, well.” Draco ran a cool hand through his hair. “Perhaps if you were able to behave long enough to stay out of the papers, everything would be easier for you.”

“Papers?” 

Hermione and Lucius seemed to have the same confused reaction as Lucius slowly placed his granddaughter on the ground. The little girl still clung to him, chubby fingers seeking his pockets while Lucius fixed Draco with a perplexed look. 

“ _The Puritas Chronicles_? Oh, really, you’ve stopped reading the Chronicles, too?” Draco let out a bitter laugh. “They posted rumours that you’re shacking up with none other than Hermione bloody Granger.” 

Draco’s lips twisted upward in a sneer as all blood drained from Hermione’s face. Her whole body felt as cold as the stone wall she clung to. Oh, Gods.Lucius was in the papers? Who—how? Christ, they should not have stepped foot in Hogsmeade together.

“And,” Draco continued, “to be honest, I wouldn’t be half-surprised.” 

“I—” 

Lucius looked stunned. His jaw had dropped and brows knit together as he tried to comprehend the information. Hermione felt the sudden urge to retreat deeper into the alley; her heart was pounding so hard she could have sworn it was audible.

“Come, Lucine,” Draco snapped his hand. 

The little girl that peered up curiously at her grandfather, obviously transfixed by Lucius’ sudden reaction. 

“I know you’re trying to prove you’re reformed and all that, but my classmate, father? And a _muggle-born_ —Lucine, come _here_ —are you trying to ruin the Malfoy name forever?” 

“I-I’m not.” 

Lucius glanced down at his granddaughter. From her vantage, Hermione could see his jaw lock and his eyes filling as he glanced down at the little girl with the silver blond hair that clung to him despite her father’s orders to return. Lucius swallowed and placed a hand on the girl’s head, petting the middle-part that split her hair into her pigtails. 

“I’m not doing anything of the sort, Draco,” Lucius’ words hardened as he spoke. His whole body seemed to stiffen as his gaze remained on the toddler that bounced at his attention. “I would never in a million years do anything to jeopardize our family—not with _that_ woman, nor any woman.” 

A thousand knives cut deep into Hermione as she heard the words. 

_That_ woman.

It was like she’d endured a bludger to her core, the words washed over her with a painful, cold, clammy shiver that made Hermione’s eyes water. 

“It’s utter lunacy and baseless gossip,” Lucius’ thumb trailed over the toddler’s cheek. “I will write to the Chronicle and ask them to retract their rubbish on account of defamation of character and slander.” 

Hermione repressed a bitter laugh, twin tears falling with each blink. Defamation of character—for being with her? She couldn’t hear any more of it. 

“I don’t know where they heard such absurdity—no, please let me see her a moment longer! She looks so much like you when you were little—” 

The words trailed off, and Hermione didn’t care to watch anymore as she strode and then broke into a run down the alleyway. 

Absurdity. 

Being with her was an absurdity. 

Not only was she a secret, not only was she a _less than ideal partner_ for him given his need for secrecy and discretion, but the mere thought that he’d be with her was—her stomach squeezed, and nausea roiled through her—lunacy.

Hermione didn’t care that she was breaking a law or two as she broke into the backdoor of Dogweed and Deathcap, which was closed for lunch. She loitered there, hiding under the windowsill, vines covering her head and slowly interlacing with her hair as Hermione struggled to breathe. 

Her shoulders shook and pain seemed to swallow her whole as she saw Lucius from the window. He drifted to the alleyway and moments later returned with a pale complexion. He searched from one side of the street to the other with wide, panic-struck eyes. Tears continued to fall as she watched him pace back and forth the street calling out her name. 

When he raked his hair back with anxious fingers, let out a shaking breath, and let out a “Fuck!” Hermione lost it. She sobbed under the windowsill until he left Hogsmeade and there was a safe enough distance between the pair for Hermione to feel like anything but lunacy.


	9. Dear If You Change, I’ll Never Choose Again

_Dear If You Change, I’ll Never Choose Again_

Hermione let out a deep sigh as she reached for the door handles. She’d intentionally dilly-dallied for an extra seven minutes until she was absolutely, most certainly late to the staff meeting that she couldn’t get out of. She almost considered faking sick, but the idea of lying to get out of a work responsibility felt abhorrent to Hermione. 

Still, she dreaded seeing him. 

She’d done so well in avoiding Lucius for the past three weeks, even with him suddenly appearing near her classroom or quarters after lunch or dinner, his heavy gaze intent on finding a quiet moment to nab her away and force an unpleasant conversation. She’d thankfully evaded all of his attempts, but it made her feel sick to see him like that. The man was known for his pride, for his unflappable demeanour, yet the way he’d glance at her when they’d crossed paths, she could almost hear his thoughts, feel the emotion just a thin layer under the surface. 

It hurt more than she cared to admit. More than she could comprehend, it ached. 

And she had to see him—be in the same room as him—after weeks of avoiding just that. 

Hermione sucked in a shaky breath and felt her nerves drift through her like rippling waves. She twisted the door handle and pushed in. 

The Headmistress stopped her speech as soon as Hermione stepped into the room with a sheepish, apologetic smile. Her face had grown warm as all the faculty’s eyes were on her. Even Professor Binns seemed to have stirred from his perpetual slumber enough to see her step into the room. Her nervous eyes flitted across the room. Each row of seats seemed to be full, except—

Hermione’s heart sank in her stomach. She watched as Lucius twisted to lift a few books from the empty chair next to him and placed them on the table before him. Merlin’s fucking pants, he’d been _saving a seat for her?_

She scanned for an option, _any_ other option, but there was none. She briefly considered standing in the back. 

“Professor Granger, if you’d please take a seat,” McGonagall said with the typical edge that made Hermione feel like a pupil again. For the love of Godric…

Hermione crossed toward the seat, her heart drumming with each step she took until she slipped into the chair and ducked her head down. McGonagall continued to talk, seemingly about the end-of-year festivities. 

Hermione stared at the Headmistress’ thin lips move as words came out, but if she was asked to repeat them, Hermione would undoubtedly fail. She’d never had such a hard time concentrating on anything before in her life, but as Lucius—who _sat sodding next to her_ —leaned over, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” His voice came out as a whisper, clearly meant for her ears only, while his eyes remained on McGonagall. 

Hermione dropped her gaze to her hands. She had, like an idiot, forgotten her quill and scroll and didn’t dare conjure one after already making a ruckus by arriving so late. 

“Hermione,” Lucius said. 

Though the words sounded soft and tender, they jabbed at her insides with a foreign pain that made her want to recoil from it and him. 

She nervously picked at her fingers, fussing with a small dent that had formed on the edge of her nail and which she suddenly was desperate to smooth out by scratching at it. Her vision was growing misty, but she swallowed and called upon whatever resolve she had in her. Her eyes flitted around her, taking in the bored teachers that were no more interested in eavesdropping on Lucius as they were on listening to McGonagall’s plan for the end-of-year feast. 

Hermione could feel Lucius’s gaze land on her. She hated this. She fought the urge to run out, away from him and all the feelings he stirred in her still. 

“I miss you.” 

As the words left his lips, a tear fell from her eyes. Her whole face felt like it was burning from the heat that rose in her cheeks. 

“Stop,” she snapped, her whisper fierce. 

It caused Professor Vesper to glance over her shoulder at the pair. Hermione shrunk into her seat as she swallowed the thickness in her throat. She let out a shaking breath as she tried to glance upward, desperate to prevent any future tears from spilling.

“As you all know, this year we are projected to have a beautiful, sunny end-of-term celebration,” McGonagall said. 

Hermione tried her hardest to pay attention to at least something from this meeting besides the Malfoy sitting next to her, intent on shredding her heart to pieces—though he’d already done that. 

“I don’t know what else I can do to show you I care,” Lucius said, his tone lower than before. 

Hermione let out a huff, and her lips tightened in a thin line.

“ _What else?_ ” She whispered back, twisting her head to face him. She wished she hadn’t. Seeing him again, his eyes wide and openly lingering on her. She regretted all of it. 

“And there is the matter of the key-note speech,” McGonagall continued.

“You can’t just buy my forgiveness, Lucius.” 

He’d tried, that was for certain. Several days after their visit to Hogsmeade, Lucius had sent her an enormous parcel with a handwritten note indicating his apology, and that he hoped she’d appreciate the gift. It wasn’t just “a gift.” The man had sent her a set of six absurdly ornate gold-plated cauldrons that likely cost more than twice her yearly salary. She could hardly look away from them as the packaging felt open and gold glinted before her. 

It was, by far, the most ostentatious gift anyone had ever got her. She’d always wanted golden cauldrons of her own; gold was known for its ability to retain the magical properties of ingredients better than any other metal. He’d even had her initials engraved on the edge of each one, surrounded by exquisite rubies that just screamed Gryffindor. It was breathtaking and so thoughtful—but when she’d deciphered his meaning that _this_ was his means of apology, she couldn’t look at it. She tucked the gift away in her closet where it remained.

“I’m paying you for those cauldrons, by the way,” she said. 

Lucius rolled his eyes. 

She could almost see the question flit across his mind: how do you think you’ll manage to do that? Ugh, the man was just so—ugh. He didn’t deserve to have hurt her like this. She had given too much of herself away. 

“And you can take back your book,” she added. 

Merlin, she’d nearly forgotten about the book. The nineteenth-century First Edition of _Hogwarts, A History_ that she knew she’d _never_ be able to pay him back for. She’d tried to send it back by bribing a few house elves, but it seemed like the man had already got to them as well. 

At the mention of the book, Lucius quirked a brow and his gaze narrowed. 

“I thought you’d like the book,” Lucius said, his gaze trailing downward and lips curving into a frown. “You’d mentioned it’s your favourite—”

The expression on his face made Hermione’s chest tighten, and she bit the inside of her cheek, eyes flitting back to the Headmistress whose gaze darted in their direction, brow furrowed in a subtle warning. 

“And our Seventh Years have all voted for who they’d like to speak at the Leaver’s dinner,” McGonagall continued.

“Hermione,” Lucius said, his voice pressured. 

Hermione sat up stiffly, heat flaring in her chest and burning her cheeks at his words.

“I’m pleased to announce they voted for Professor Malfoy to give the speech on behalf of the Hogwarts Professors.” 

Lucius’ eyes widened, and he slowly turned toward the sound of his name. Another burst of heat rose through Hermione, followed by a cold shiver that made her feel dizzy as she reeled with emotion.

They voted for Lucius. She’d never been voted to do the speech, and—it didn’t matter. 

Hermione feigned applause, tapping two fingers against the back of her hand and forcing a smile to congratulate her ex-lover who was, Gods, being applauded and lauded for doing such a spectacular job. Did they forget all the awful things he’d done? The hypocrisy was not lost on Hermione who knew that she, too, had forgiven him for those dreadful things. Still, she clung on to whatever means she could to separate her feelings from her rational mind.

She pursed her lips and glanced down at the table, perking only when McGonagall announced that the meeting was over.

“Professor Malfoy, if you’d stay for a moment to discuss the speech...” 

Hermione didn’t need to hear any more. She ignored the pressured “Wait!” from Lucius as she slipped out of the room and fled down the corridor, her heart pounding in her ears and throat. She flew up the stairs and toward her room until—

Wait. 

She skidded to a halt, her head turning to the opposite direction. She slowly moved back toward the staircase, her feet automatically taking her back toward the first-floor landing. If Lucius was preoccupied, then the library was free. Hermione let out an audible cry of relief as she quickly manoeuvred down the steps, around a few professors, and toward the library.

It was dark. It was still. It was _perfect_. 

She’d been deprived of her little pleasure of venturing to the library after hours. She never knew if Lucius would be there waiting for her, or if she’d bump into him along the way—the man clearly had house-elves on his side, she didn’t want to know what kind of information he was privy to. But now, with him under the supervision of McGonagall, Hermione could suck in the air of dusty old books and the intoxicating sense of potential learning that seemed almost visible to her as she drifted down the quiet, narrow path of the Restricted Section. 

Hermione avoided the Adult section, though she had read through all the books currently in her possession. It wasn’t the same. Nor did she need to see the spot where they’d first… She cleared her throat and peered into the Zoological Necromancy section for no reason in particular except that she could. 

Hermione jumped at the sound of a creak, then a click. A flood of cold washed over her skin as she froze in place, hand flying to her mouth to keep her from making a peep. Hermione heard the sound of a sigh; it was deep, borne from the depths of the person, and she fought the urge to peek her head to see who’d chosen to disturb her finite moment of respite. If it was a student out of bed, Godric help them.

The scrape of a chair and the masculine clearing of a throat made the blood drain from Hermione’s face. Fuck. She could make out the faint bit of silver-blond hair across the aisle as he sank into the chair one row ahead. Christ, she’d been boxed in.

Why couldn’t McGonagall have kept him longer? Made him write the speech tonight? She’d barely had any time to pick up a book or two and now—

Hermione carefully slipped her hand in her pocket and withdrew her wand, her fingers trembling as she pointed it to the bookshelves closest to him. She couldn’t see his face, but the way his head was tilted and he was seated quietly, she presumed he was reading. 

“ _Bombarda_ ,” she whispered, wincing as the words left her mouth. 

The magic around the library rippled visibly, countering her chaotic spell. Still, a few books fell from their shelves with a clamour and caused Lucius to jolt upright, head twisting toward the sound. 

This was her chance. 

Hermione made a run for it, swinging wildly around the aisle—though with little grace as her hip collided hard with the edge and made her swear and stagger.

“Wait!” 

She heard him calling out for her, but she stumbled forward. She almost made it out of the Restricted Section, but Lucius seemed rather practised in diversion tactics and was effortless in his chase as his fingers gripped around her elbow and he kept her from fleeing. 

“Wait—Stop!” 

Hermione struggled against him, but he reached for her with his other hand, grabbing her by the wrist. His touch seared against her, burning her to the bone. 

She fought the urge to limp as she turned around, the throbbing in her hip where she’d struck hard now radiated in shooting pains down her leg. But it felt like nothing compared to the painful pounding of her heart and the panic that rose in her chest. 

She had no idea when she’d gotten so skittish around him. The man had, at first, driven her batty—nearly to the point of blind rage, then melted her heart and opened her up to him in a way that she’d never really allowed anyone to before. She’d seen so much of Lucius, his tenderness, his warmth, his sinful decadence that made her burn for him. 

But now, after… after the things Lucius had said about her, after he’d cast her down like a filthy secret that he dared not even consider mentioning, after he made her feel so _worthless_ and disgraceful that it shook her, now he terrified her. 

Hermione felt like an idiot for letting him have that much power. Their split had shaken her to the core, and she just wanted to heal. All she wanted was to mend her bleeding heart, torn open and achingly raw. Every time she saw him, it split open again, cracking for him. She just wanted to turn and shield herself from the hurt, was that too much to ask? 

But he held her there. He slowly turned her around to face him and Hermione didn’t know if she should struggle more or just... let him.

“Do you really feel it necessary to run away from me?” Lucius’ eyes were wide, open pools of crystalline blue. 

The downturned slope of his lips and the crease in his forehead conveyed a sad kind of worry that made Hermione’s stomach hurt. 

“Am I that loathsome—”

“Stop,” she said, urging him with her broken voice and the shake of her head. “Please, Lucius.” 

“I take it back.” His gaze fell to the floor, his finger rose to her shoulders where he squeezed. “I take all of it back, I regret saying any of it, Hermione. I was such an idiot. I was just—”

“You were just trying to appease Draco so you could spend time with your granddaughter,” Hermione said with a soft nod and Lucius’s eyes flicked up to hers.

“You understand? You know why—”

“It doesn’t matter.” Hermione sighed. 

The grip of his fingers felt so heavy they were almost bruising. It was like he was holding her still, afraid that if he released even an ounce of pressure, she’d flutter away. She would. She wanted nothing more than to flee his wide blue eyes and the intensity that seemed to drift off of him and suck her back into his whirlpool of emotions. 

Her heart was racing in her chest, coursing thick, hot blood throughout her whole being. He’d made her heart flutter like this before; it pounded for him in the quiet nights as his lips met hers and more. It calmed, after hours of connection and melding of souls, into a gentle flutter of peace as she’d curl up in his arms and press soft, reminding kisses of her affections for him. 

Fuck, it hurt. Lucius was hurting her, and he was doing nothing.

“It doesn’t matter...?” 

“Lucius, it wouldn’t have worked,” she said, forcing her voice to harden, but only causing it to break under the pressure of her feelings.

“Please.” Lucius’s eyes washed over her features, settled on her lips. His hand rose to slip into her hair and cradle her neck. “Please, Hermione.” 

The trembling of her lower lip was undeniable now. It was like her whole being was quivering against him, weakening into fragile glass that was ready to crack and shatter at his feet. She wanted nothing more than—no, she wouldn’t let him. He couldn’t put the pieces back together. Not without ensuring a weaker version of herself for him. 

No, she needed her own fortifications.

“I miss you so much.” Lucius’ voice came out as a breath. He leaned forward, his forehead pressing against hers as his hand on her shoulder dropped to the small of her back, gentle and reassuring as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

She hated the tears that fell. She loathed that her sorrow was bubbling up in violent waves that made her shoulders shake and breath come out in short gasps. 

His hand drifted from her hair and cupped her heated face, thumb trailing over the trembling lower lip as if willing it to calm for him. 

“Please, forgive me. I didn’t mean it—” 

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, swallowing the warm rush that had threatened to take over logic. 

It was too easy to get lost in him. It was reckless to think everything was okay, just because he made her feel—like this. Like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

It wasn’t true. And though Hermione knew, _hoped_ , that some of his affections for her were real, he still very much lived in a world that hated her. How could she concede to that? Forever feeling like an apology for existing, merely by choosing to be with him. 

“It _does_ matter,” he said, forceful as he pulled back enough to bore his certainty into her through his gaze. “What can I do? What do you need me to do to prove it? I’ve sent you gifts, I—”

“You can’t buy my love with gifts, Lucius. You don’t know me at all if you think that would have worked.”

“Then tell me. Please, just tell me. I’ll do it.”

“There is nothing to be done. It’s too—too painful to even say it, but I can’t be your dirty secret. I can’t be your girlfriend in the shadows. It—” she choked on the words, “—it broke me to learn that I was so easy to cast aside. And I know! I know _why_ you did it. But it doesn’t change how true it was that I—' _that woman_ ’—would ‘jeopardize your family.’ Please, let me go. Please, Lucius. I can’t bear this.” 

“But I lo—”

“Stop.” 

She sucked in a breath, tears falling freely from her eyes. She was going to crack; she could feel it. Fuck, what was this pain? It hurt everywhere. It was killing her.

“Please, stop.” 

Lucius’ gaze fell, his own lip trembling as his Adam’s Apple jumped. His grip on her cheek and on her back loosened and Hermione took a gentle step back. Her gaze drifted over him, defeated and broken as he stood there, eyes only lifting to meet hers one last time. 

It took everything in her to turn, then. To not fly into Lucius’ arms and kiss the worry creases from his face. To not bury her face in his chest and promise to be his forever. Her heart squeezed in her chest, begging her to give in to him, but her mind, her ego, everything she’d been raised to protect and fight for, flared back with a vengeance. 

She fought to swallow the remaining tears, but they streamed freely down her face as she made her way back to her quarters. All she wanted now was sleep and to embrace its promise of feeling nothing of this pain. 

* * *

Hermione couldn’t help staring at the empty seat three spots down. Her hands pounded with resounding claps as Headmistress McGonagall finished a presumably riveting end-of-term speech that Hermione couldn’t pay attention to because she was so distracted by the lack of the white-blond head of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. 

Tension coiled in her stomach as a thought popped in her head. 

Had Lucius left Hogwarts?

Hermione had never been one to give the Defense Against the Dark Arts curse any credence; the reasons for Professors to not stay more than one year in their posts were often valid. But for some reason, she was growing nervous. Would Lucius want to return for another year? Had their relationship and painful split made it unlivable for him? Oh Gods, what if he wasn’t asked to return? She suddenly regretted ever sending a letter to McGonagall, the Board of Governors, oh and the Minister for bloody Magic.

But the students loved him. His speech made even McGonagall misty-eyed.

Hermione’s eyes flitted to the left again. She shouldn’t care. She knew she shouldn’t; she’d asked him to let her go. Yet when he wasn’t around, she seemed preoccupied, even bothered, by his absence. 

She hadn’t seen him for three weeks. Three long weeks of him acquiescing to her request and giving her the space she’d asked for. At first, it was a relief. The distance between them felt like a massive boot had been lifted from her chest, no longer stomping her into the earth and telling her to suffer from these feelings she couldn’t justify having. Yet, and with great disdain and even greater pain, the feelings returned. The dread reared its ugly head in; nay, it barrelled back into her life and landed right on her, forcing her to wake up in the middle of the night gasping for air. 

Summer was coming. Summer away from Hogwarts. Away from _him_. 

Hermione could have sworn that this was what she needed; physical space, literal freedom from him, but the closer the days edged toward June, the quicker her heart would pound if she caught even the glimpse of icy hair or the sound of his voice from a corridor away. The man haunted her like a spectre, yet the mere thought of casting him free, fully free, crippled her. It squeezed her heart as though milking the blood from her body and threatening to fill it with sorrow and pain and yearning.

It hurt, and she hated it, and now she couldn’t stop thinking about where in the bloody world he was.

_Compose yourself, Hermione._

She knew it wouldn’t work. She knew it. This relationship was not conducive to, well, life. To the real world. To his Pureblood lineage, his expectant family, his goals of developing a relationship with his granddaughter. She was dirt to them, _still_. Even after the war. 

_‘I would never in a million years do anything to jeopardize our family, Draco_ — _not with that woman, nor any woman.’_

_‘Utter lunacy. Baseless gossip. Absurdity.’_

Lunacy. Though she’d repeated the words in her head, reminding her of why she made her choice, they still stung her right in the heart. She pressed a hand against her stomach and forced it to relax, her whole body a tight knot of anxiety. 

Food had appeared on her plate, and she’d scarcely noticed it. She had no appetite—even the smell of it made her feel sick. Hermione crumpled her napkin and dropped it on the plate full of food as she rose from her chair with a quiet excuse. The chair scraped against the wooden floor and almost covered the sound of the heavy Great Hall doors opening. 

Her gaze lifted to the figure that appeared between the enormous doorframe. It moved quickly, almost gliding, down the middle of the Great Hall. Hermione’s vision had grown blurry as she turned to inform McGonagall that she wasn’t feeling well and needed to head to her room, but as she tilted to the right to face the Headmistress, she caught a flash of the silver-blond in her periphery. 

Hermione turned her head toward it—him. Lucius. 

He was moving with intent, his limbs carrying him with a certain speed that made Hermione nervous. She stood frozen for a moment when she noticed his eyes on her. His expression was neutral, the nervous crease that had formed on his forehead for the past several weeks gone as he approached the large wooden platform that sat the entire Hogwarts staff.

He was here. For dinner. At Hogwarts. He hadn’t left yet for the summer.

For goodness sake, what did that even change for her? Nothing. If anything it was all the more reason to flee to her quarters and curl up in a ball until the students and perhaps even Lucius left for the summer. 

Lucius’ pace slowed significantly as he stepped up the wooden platform, and Hermione became painfully aware that she hadn’t moved since she’d risen to leave. Suddenly, she felt silly, but there was no way of leaving without crossing him. Hermione sank back into her seat silently. She swept away the napkin that had begun to grow damp from gravy and grabbed her fork. She stabbed a few corn kernels, keeping her gaze glued on the quickly cooling food that elicited no appetite from her tense stomach. 

He was here. He hadn’t left. He was here. 

Several moments passed and Hermione nervously eyed the seat a few spots to her left. 

It was still...empty? She couldn’t quite understand why; Lucius had approached the staff table and, she thought, was moving toward his seat. 

Hermione jolted at the sudden sound of a throat clearing. She glanced over her shoulder, toward the sound, and blood drained from her face as she saw him standing there, patiently still as he glanced down at her. What on Godric’s sodding planet was Lucius doing? 

“Hermione,” he said, his voice a soft beckon. 

Lucius offered his hand to her, and she felt her face simultaneously want to blanch and blush at his presence. Several staff members had glanced at him, sensing him standing there behind them. 

“What are you—”

“Please,” he said, pushing his open, offered palm toward her.

Hermione took it; she swore it was because she didn’t need anyone hearing their conversation and preferred to be close to him anyway, or that he seemed quite bothered and she felt the sudden urge to help him. Still, in spite of all the reasons her logical mind could muster, she knew it was right. She couldn’t deny the way her heart was racing; couldn’t ignore the sudden uncontrollable shaking of her fingertips as Lucius tugged her to stand next to him. 

They didn’t move—he didn’t whisk her away to some quiet corridor to talk to her. Lucius remained standing, his hand firmly holding hers as he sought her other hand with his. 

“What? What’s happening?” Hermione asked, her voice a pressured whisper as her eyes flitted over his shoulder to the now several professors that were staring at them—including McGonagall.

Lucius’ eyes trailed over her lips and landed on her eyes, his own hands shaking as he pressed her palms against his chest. 

“I was such an idiot,” Lucius said. He shook his head and averted his gaze. She could feel the rapid fluttering of his heart.

Her brows rose and mouth dropped as he squeezed her hands tighter. She’d never thought she’d hear the words from him. Heat washed over her in repeated waves. Her mind grappled with the spoken words while her body remained very much aware that nearly all of the professors, and likely many students, were looking at them. 

At Hermione Granger, Potions Mistress, Muggle Born, Harry Potter’s Best Friend—and _Lucius Malfoy_. 

“I took you for granted. I realize now that I did try to buy your forgiveness and I understand your refusal. I understand your reasons for pushing me away; I made you feel small and worthless but, Gods, Hermione, you have so much worth to me.”

“Lucius, please.”

Hermione’s eyes had already grown misty from his words. She couldn’t look away as Lucius’ own gaze searched hers with a quiet desperation.

It was so natural for her to reach for logic that urged her this match would never work; it was destined to endure hardship and pain. But that incessant voice in her head, that aching, burning pain in her chest _knew_ there was nothing but him. It didn’t reason; it just knew a sort of truth that is rooted beyond thought or logic.

“I swear to you,” he said, his voice quiet enough for her ears only, “I swear I will leave you alone. I will never bother you again if you ask me to let you go.”

“I—”

“But first, please listen. I need you to know this, Hermione: you’re not my secret. I didn’t have the courage to admit it to myself, but you’re so much more important than I made you feel, and I-I choose you. In front of all these people, I choose you; if I have to prove it in front of everyone, then—” 

In a swift motion, Lucius slipped an arm around her waist and drew her forward in a kiss that made the entire world around them fade away, leaving just her physical form to respond to his words as they burned her throat and made her heart rise up her chest, desperately attempting to escape her body and land in his hands where it belonged. 

His lips were as tender as she remembered, more tender still as he cradled her with such fragility as if to preserve the moment forever. It was enough for tears to burn her eyes and slip out from under shut lids. They trailed down her cheeks as a sob caught in her throat and was muffled by their kiss as she—in all her being—acknowledged just how much she’d missed him, needed him, wanted him. 

And, even though Hermione had every intention to tease him for making such a grand gesture to win her back, it meant the world to her to know that he was willing to proclaim their love in front of all. In front of the professors that watched, mouths agape. In front of their students who’d started applauding for lord knew what reason. In front of the Headmistress, who surely did not anticipate her hiring decisions to result in _this_. 

It was for her that he put his heart out. He offered it to her, begged her to keep it safe. Entrusted her, despite having endured such pain that she could have easily made him crumble. Gods, she didn’t want to. She never wanted to see his pain again, never, ever wanted to be the cause of it. 

“I love you,” he said as he pulled away for a brief moment. The words were another kiss of their own, spoken on her soft lips with his warm breath. “I don’t expect—”

“I love you too, Lucius,” Hermione said, the words quivering as a sob broke free. She nodded and smiled and repeated the words as he beamed with a smile of his own. 

They shared one more kiss. 

A final seal of their declaration of love for the whole of Hogwarts, before Lucius whisked her away from the Great Hall and swept her to his quarters where they sealed their love in private, for themselves. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review if you enjoyed this! It has a very special place in my heart and your feedback means the world to me. Let me know what you think! 
> 
> Syren


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